Blind Memory
by misslucy21
Summary: A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen: Edward de Bono
1. Chapter 1

Blind Memory

by MissLucy

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Insert your favorite disclaimer here 

AN: This story has a bit of a history that's important to know. You see, I pay very little attention to entertainment or celebrity news, and I don't read spoilers. So, way back in August 2004, all I knew about the third season of CSI:M was what I saw in the season premiere promo. So, I had no idea that Rory Cochrane had decided to leave the show and no idea who was going to die in the premiere. This story is the result of what my imagination saw when I saw the teasers. So, while the story is sort of indirectly influenced by "Lost Son", it doesn't bear much resemblence to the episode itself. Someone does die, yes, but very little of the rest of it happens. Also, I did not see any of season 3 beyond "Lost Son" and I have not seen any of Season 4, due to an inhospitable work/school schedule, a broken VCR and a lack of cable television. I know certain small things about some events from things friends have told me, but I've not seen any episodes. Therefore, anything that happens that bears any resemblence to anything that's happened since "Lost Son" is coincidence. The story has only taken so long to post because I had the ending and part of the middle all put together way back in August 2004, but never had a beginning until now, so the majority of the story was plotted out and written over a year ago.

There is also defninte angst going on here. It's Speed's story, and most of it takes place inside his head, and the inside of his head is a somewhat scary place at the time the story takes place, in a variety of ways and for a variety of reasons. There is a lot of introspection, a fair bit of forensics, and some action when it comes to it, but no fluff. If that's not your style, then you might want to give this one a pass.

All that being said, I hope you enjoy it!

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A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen-. Edward de Bono

As the years pass us by, will I still make the grade  
Can I really offer anything, and will my soul be saved  
Can you cleanse me of...drive out the swine  
Am I only falling farther, can you keep me safe from harm  
The memories you build in the house on a hill  
Would you really change a thing  
Corrected mistakes in a world full of hate  
Never changes anything  
- "World Full of Hate", Dropkick Murphys

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September, 2004 

The rain beaded up on the windshield of the parked car, obscuring the view of the Miami-Dade Police Department. Tim Speedle sat in the driver's seat and watched the rain make patterns on the glass, trying to gather the energy to get out of the car. Getting out of the car meant walking across the wet parking lot and into the building and dealing with co-workers when all he really wanted to do was hole up in a corner and stare at nothing. He hadn't slept. He couldn't; not this week, anyway. The rain was not helping. Rain meant driving the car, the old beat up wreck of a car that he'd had since…well, since before. He'd lost count of how long. He just knew he'd had it all of twelve years and probably for more than that. He hated the car, but couldn't manage to get rid of it. But one can't drive a bike in Miami rain, and it had been raining for days. And so the car.

_If you don't get it together, you're going to be late_. The sensible voice, the one that made him get up out of bed this morning. Heaving a sigh, he grabbed his bag, opened the car door, and stepped out onto the wet pavement. The rain provided the impetus for a burst of energy that got him across the parking lot, into the building, down the hall past the reception desk and into the locker room. He dumped his bag on the floor of his locker, hung up his jacket, and retrieved a dry pair of shoes and his gun from the top shelf. There were few things he hated more than cold wet feet. He changed his shoes and clipped the gun to his waist, next to his badge.

No one was in the hallway as he made his way to the supply closet he and Calleigh laughingly called an office. They had crammed two desks and a file cabinet among shelves lined with boxes in an effort to have somewhere other than a layout table to type reports. He squeezed around a cluttered desk and the file cabinet to the desk in the far corner. The desktop held a smattering of files, which he picked up as he sat down. Two of the files were meant for Calleigh, and he smirked humorlessly at the usual assumption that hers was the clean desk. He tossed them on top of the strata of paper that covered Calleigh's desk and turned his attention to the remaining file, which held the final evidence reports of the case they had wrapped up the afternoon before. If he was lucky, he could have the report done before he got tagged with another case. There were supplies to be ordered, too, and it would be nice to have time to deal with that, as well.

His cell phone rang, distracting him from the report. Sighing, he answered, "Speedle."

"Hey, Little Man, it's your old dad. Are you at work already?" came the voice from the other end of the line.

"Hi, Dad. Yeah, I'm at the lab. What's up?" he asked warily. Early morning phone calls from his father were not rare, but right now Syracuse was a world he did not have the energy to deal with. Nor the desire. Not this week.

"I thought you might be, when your mom tried the house and said you didn't pick up. I'm not catching you in the middle of something, am I?" his dad asked.

He shrugged, even though his dad couldn't see. "Not really. Just paperwork on something we wrapped up yesterday."

"Ok, good. I just need a minute, ok?"

"Yeah, fine," he sighed, glancing back down at the file and shuffling the papers into the order he needed. "Is everything all right?"

"No, no, everything's fine. I just wanted to call you before your mom got ahold of you. She's thinking about the holidays already, and I wanted to talk to you first."

Tim closed his eyes, his hands stilling on the papers. _Not this week, _he thought._ Just…no._ "Dad," he started, but his father cut him off.

"No, wait, Timmy, let me explain it all before you start protesting, ok? Just let me tell you what we're thinking," Tim sighed, but didn't say anything. "All right. Your mom and I were talking, and we thought it might be nice to have a bit of a change of pace this year. We were thinking we'd close up the restaurant for a couple of days and have Thanksgiving in Niagara Falls this year. Thought we'd ask Matt's girlfriend along, and you could bring someone if you liked, too, and we'd just go away for a nice long weekend. We haven't been to Niagara for a long, long time. And it's our twentieth anniversary this year, you know." His dad's voice dropped as he said, "and it would mean a lot to your mom if you were there. I'm not saying it to pressure you, I'm just saying it so you know, ok?"

He was silent. _Does he really not remember what this week is,_ he thought. _I can't, I don't, I… _"Dad, I…I don't…Let me think on it, ok?", he replied. "I'll…call you next week or something. I have to…think it through, all right?"

"Sure, honey, that's fine. I just wanted to tell you what we were thinking. We got a bit of an early start this year, because we'd have to make travel arrangements and all, but next week is plenty soon enough, ok? Just consider it, is all we're asking," his dad replied.

"Right. I'll…do that," he said.

"And it's just Thanksgiving," his dad said. "We were thinking that maybe we'd come to Miami for Christmas, or maybe between Christmas and New Years a couple of days, if you'd want. No reason to decide right now, but we thought it might be nice to come see you instead this year. Especially since we understand that you won't be able to take off at Christmas if you take off for Thanksgiving".

"Right," he said faintly. He hadn't taken time off for either holiday in the entire time he'd been working. He wasn't sure his father realized that, though. It was true that he never went home, but he never said it was because of work. He would have thought his parents knew why it was. But if they did, they would not be bringing this all up now. His father said something else, but a movement in the doorway caught his eye. Calleigh was leaning against the doorframe, raising her eyebrows at him. He shook his head and said, "Hey, Dad, I'm sorry, but I gotta go, ok?"

"Oh, sure, kiddo. No problem. You'll call us next week and let us know what you think?"

"Yeah, I'll…do that. Just tell Mom, that I'll call, ok? She…doesn't…."

"Right," his dad interrupted. "No problem, I will pass that on to her."

"Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome. Love you, Little Man," his father said, a smile in his voice. He had to swallow back a lump in his throat before he could reply.

"Love you too, Dad. Talk to you later," he said, hanging up before his father could respond.

Calleigh looked at him for a moment, but didn't say anything. They had an unspoken agreement to pretend to not overhear phone calls from or about each other's family members. But he had a feeling that she had heard more of the conversation than he'd noticed and had chosen that moment to poke her head in to give him an out from the conversation.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she shrugged. "What are you doing?"

"The writeup from yesterday. And the supply list, if I get the chance."

"You might. Horatio says there's nothing so far, but you and I are first up, because he and Eric are still working on that hit and run," she said.

He nodded. "Right. Oh, I put a couple of files on your pile, there. They're right on top."

She smiled. "Someone mistook the desks again?"

"Yeah. I can't imagine why," he said, looking back at the papers in his hands. Calleigh chuckled, and rummaged around in her own papers.

"Well, ok, I've got some evidence from night shift that needs logging down there, so that's where I'll be."

"Gotcha," he said, not looking up from the papers. "I'll find you."

"Good deal," she said, as she breezed out of the office and down the hall.

Reports and paperwork were not his favorite activity, but the tedium was about his speed at the moment. He lost himself in the report, pushing away the thoughts of the phone call and the rain.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A few hours later, he was standing in a bedroom taking photographs of a naked male corpse while half listening to Calleigh get a rundown from Hagen. He couldn't tell whether their on-again, off-again relationship was on or off. It was a relationship he didn't particularly care for, but it wasn't his business. He was just glad someone else was there to deal with Hagen; he neither liked nor trusted the detective, and knew the feeling was mutual.

Nearly five years ago, Hagan had been Raymond Caine's partner in narcotics when Ray Caine turned up dead one morning. Tim had been on the investigation, albeit in an oblique way. Megan had wanted to shield him somewhat, on his first major IAB investigation, and so, he'd been kept in the background. He didn't think that too many people knew that he had been the one to call the case as inconclusive. The evidence just wasn't there- the trace just hadn't tied it together. And without the trace, everything else was circumstantial. Horatio probably knew that he had made the call, but Megan took the heat for it. And somehow, John Hagen had found out.

He'd been alone in the locker room, getting ready to go home for the night a few days later, when Hagen had stalked into the room. Tim didn't even look up until Hagen had grabbed him and pinned him to the lockers. The two men were much the same age- Tim might have been a year older, at the most. But even then, five years ago, as two young men who hadn't entirely filled out yet, Hagen had had several inches and a good forty pounds on Tim. He hadn't said anything, his heart pounding in his ears, but he had been very aware that if he fought, it would be a fight he would lose. Hagen had held him against the locker for a long moment, eyes wild, but then seemed to find some kind of control and let him go. Tim had sagged against the lockers as Hagen shot him a purely poisonous look and left the room. Since then, he'd always avoided being alone in a room with him. That was generally easy enough, since Hagen always seemed to want to deal with any CSI other than Tim.

Something other than Hagen was bothering him about this scene, though. It was too familiar, somehow. He'd seen it before, but he couldn't remember where. Dead man on a bed in an apartment that was too neat for it to have been an intruder, but not neat enough for it to have been a date. He shook his head as he watched Alexx do the preliminary exam.

"What?" Calleigh asked.

He looked up at her and shrugged. "I dunno. There's something familiar here, but I don't know what."

She frowned as she looked around the room. "Nothing's ringing a bell. Except maybe that case you worked with Horatio last year with the fabric designer who killed his rapist?"

"No, it's not that," he said, shaking his head. "Not the same MO. And besides, that was a revenge thing. This isn't. Not messy enough."

"True," she replied. "I don't know, then. It's not anything I've worked on, I don't think."

He shrugged again. "I don't remember. I just…I've just seen it before. I can't remember where. I…" he trailed off for a moment, and frowned. "It's a known assailant, and it's not…" He shook his head. "I don't know. It's not there,"

Calleigh looked at him with barely concealed concern. "It's ok, Tim. There's evidence. We'll figure it out."

He shook his head, frowning again at the scene. "I'm about done here, what do you think?" She nodded and led the way out of the house.

In the truck, he was quiet, turning the crime scene over in his head. Truth be told, he was grateful for the distraction, but the feeling that it was all too familiar nagged him. He stared out the window until Calleigh broke the silence to ask, "You ok?"

"Hmm?" he mumbled, puzzled by the question.

"I asked if you were ok," she replied.

"I'm fine," he said, turning back to the window.

He could almost feel Calleigh's hesitation, though, and wasn't completely surprised when she decided to push the matter. "Look, Tim, I know we don't talk about this kind of thing, but did your dad say something this morning? Something that's got you upset? Because you're just…off today. You were kind of out of it at the scene."

He shook his head, but didn't look at her. "I'm all right, Cal," he replied.

She sighed, but didn't push further, seeing as they were pulling into the parking lot. He escaped with his pile of evidence down to the trace lab without any further conversation.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thank you so much for the reviews so far! And in answer to a question in the reviews, I wanted to point out that I wrote two one-shot stories (also back in the summer of 2004) where I sort of played around a little bit with Speed's background (since none of it had been mentioned on the show, it was fair game from my POV). Those stories are Abandoned Children and Crystals, and they might answer some questions about his family. Or you can just hang in there awhile, since it'll come up later on in this story, as well...

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Chapter 3

"Hey, baby, I was just about to call you," Alexx said as he walked into her autopsy room.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Mm-hm. I just now finished your guy here," she said, waving a hand at the corpse on her table.

"Really," he said, perching on a stool. "So?"

"Well, it looks like he was asphyxiated. Tox isn't back yet, so I don't know if he was helped along by anything, but the only really unusual thing was what looks like post mortem anal penetration," she said, leaning against a counter to look at him.

He frowned. "DNA?" he asked.

"Didn't find any, sorry, honey," she said.

He squinted at the body, thinking. Post-mortem penetration, no DNA…it was still familiar. "Alexx, could it have been a foreign object?", he asked absently.

She shrugged. "It's possible. I didn't find any trace other than some lubricant."

"Yeah?" he asked, more interested.

"Yes, of course, I got a sample," she said, smiling at him and holding out an evidence bag.

His lips quirked up into something that might be called a smirk as he reached out to take it. "Thanks."

"Any time, baby," she replied. He sat and watched her clean up as he considered things. Known assailant, asphyxiation, post-mortem penetration, looks like a sex thing gone bad, but it's not. He didn't know where that was coming from, but he knew it was true. "Timmy?" Alexx's voice pulled him out of his reverie.

"Hm?" he asked, blinking.

"You all right? You've been sitting there for five minutes, staring at nothing."

"Oh," he said, looking down at the evidence in his hands. "Sorry, just thinking."

"You still think that there's something familiar about this?" she asked.

He nodded. "I just don't know what."

She nodded, slowly. "I'm not coming up with anything, I'm sorry. But I see a lot more bodies than you see cases, and I don't have your memory."

His memory. Yes. "I know. It's here somewhere."

"Well, why don't you come get something to eat with me. Maybe if you stop thinking for awhile it'll come to you," she suggested.

His stomach protested at the thought of food, and he shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

Alexx gave him that searching look that always made him squirm. "You gotta eat, Timmy."

"I know, I will," he said, sliding off the stool. "Later, ok?"

She sighed and shook her head. "All right. This time. But only if you promise you'll take a break and eat something soon."

He nodded. "I will." He started out of the room before she could respond. "Thanks, Alexx," he called over his shoulder.

"You're welcome," he heard her call after him as he headed for the stairs.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

He was staring so intently at the sample under the scope that he didn't hear Delko come in and sit down at the counter until he heard Delko say, "Hello, earth to Speed, come in, Speedle?"

"Huh?" he asked, looking up and blinking.

"Ah! He _is_ in there," Delko said grinning. "I've only been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes. Where'd you go?"

He shrugged. "Nowhere. Thinkin'".

"What about?" Delko asked, indicating the scope.

"Sample from the body. It's lubricant," he said, turning back towards the scope.

"If you know what it is, why are you looking at it so hard?" Delko asked reasonably.

He frowned. "Dunno. What'd you need, Delko?" He really didn't want to deal with Delko right now. He liked him well enough, even thought of him as a friend, but there were times he got on his nerves. Too cheerful.

"Can you run something for me?" Delko asked.

He sighed. "Isn't Sam around?"

"Probably. But I don't want Sam to run it. I'd rather you did it," Delko explained. "It'll be faster."

Tim had to concede his point. "What is it? And why can't you do it yourself?"

"It's an unusable print in this sticky stuff, with print powder over it, and I can't do it myself because you don't like me screwing with stuff up in your lab," Delko replied with a smile.

"It's not that I don't like you doing things in the lab, it's that I can't ever find anything once you're done," Tim muttered. "Sticky how? Like candy sticky or like tar sticky?"

"Like stuff in your car sticky," Delko replied.

"Probably soda," Tim said.

"I don't know," Delko said. "It didn't smell like it."

Tim shrugged. "Ok. Is this priority?"

Delko shrugged. "Might be. I don't know yet. H is out following a possible lead, and this might confirm the lead or it might not be anything."

"Or might be something else altogether," Tim said, nodding.

"Or it might be something else altogether," Delko agreed. "We don't have much. I got some useable prints from the same spot with this stuff, but they didn't score a hit."

"Ok," he sighed, holding his hand out for the sample. "Give me an hour, ok?"

"Sure," Delko said. "I can wait."

Tim shrugged. He didn't care if Delko hung around so long as he wasn't in a chatty mood. But people pretty much knew not to expect a whole lot of conversation out of him when he was processing things, and Delko knew when to shut up. Most of the time, anyway.

He moved around the lab, setting Delko's sample to processing and checking on some things he'd set up previously from a batch of night shift evidence he'd been left to deal with. Delko didn't say anything, just leafed through the file folder that presumably held reports from his case. Some time later, the mass spec beeped and he turned to grab the printout. Before he could give the results to Delko, Calleigh breezed into the lab and said "Hey, so I talked to Alexx."

He turned to look at her. "So did I. What'd she tell you?"

"Tox came back mostly clean. Little bit of alcohol, not enough to be an impairment. And she told me about the post-mortem stuff. Which is odd, since DNA processed those bed sheets, and there's a "contribution" from our vic," she said.

He tilted his head. "Recent?"

She nodded. "Yup. Carrie said it was definitely within the last 12 to 24 hours."

"That's not a function of sphincter relaxation," he mused.

"I didn't think so, but you'd know better than me," Calleigh replied. "Of course, there's plenty of explanations for it."

"True," he said, frowning. That was a detail that didn't jog his memory, but it didn't feel out of place, either. It still followed. He looked down at the paper in his hand. "High fructose corn syrup, citric acid and red dye 40."

"Excuse me?" Calleigh said, confused.

He shook his head at her. "No, Delko's thing."

"Great," Delko said. "So why do I get the impression that doesn't narrow it down any."

"Probably because those are the top three ingredients in just about every junk food known to man," Tim shrugged.

"How do you _remember_ these things?" Delko sighed.

"It's my _job_, Delko. Go do yours," he said, irritably, holding the paper out.

Delko smirked at him as he took it. "All right. See you guys later."

Tim turned his attention back to Calleigh. "What else did DNA say?"

"Well, there's only one contributor to the sheets, and that's our victim. Nothing from anyone else that they found," she sighed. "So that's a dead end."

He nodded. _That_ did go along with the other things he remembered. "Right."

"What do you have so far," she asked.

"Lubricant, from the victim," he said. "And some fibers, but they don't seem to be foreign to the scene, so nothing there."

Calleigh frowned. "So how does that make sense?"

He shrugged. "Doesn't, really, yet. It's part of the set-up," he said. She looked at him oddly. "Make it look like a sex thing gone bad," he explained.

"Where's your evidence, Tim?" she asked, gently.

He shook his head. "I don't know yet. It's there, somewhere." He was sure of it. He just couldn't prove it yet.

"Tim…" Calleigh sighed.

"I know, Cal. I know. I'm gonna find it. I just…haven't yet," he said, sitting down and looking at the papers on the counter. "It's here somewhere, I just don't know where."

"Alexx said something about a foreign object," Calleigh offered.

"Confirming it?" he asked.

"No, just saying it was a possibility. You thought so?" she asked.

"Maybe. Well…no. I don't." he said slowly. "Why would you lube up a foreign object?"

Calleigh shook her head. "You're right. That doesn't follow. But there's no DNA."

"Condom," he said, blinking. "Our guy wore a condom."

"There wasn't one at the scene, though," Calleigh said.

"Took it with him," Tim replied.

Calleigh winced. "Ew."

"I know," he said, nodding.

"Maybe he dumped it in the trash bins outside. I glanced in them, but didn't look that closely, since I didn't see any prints in the mud," she offered.

"Worth a look," he shrugged, standing up.

"Worth a look tomorrow," Calleigh said, shaking her head. "It's almost dark already and it's raining again. You'll never see anything tonight. It'll hold for the morning."

He sighed. "Ok. What do you have on victimology so far?"

"Well, that's the thing. It's really thin. Neighbors didn't notice anything, didn't know the victim, and didn't care. And there wasn't much in the house to point us. I can't find hardly anything on him, either," she said.

"What do you mean," Tim said, frowning.

"Well, on paper, he looks like a recent transplant, but there's not much to indicate where he came from," she explained.

"Witness Protection?" he asked.

"Maybe," she said. "I didn't trip any alarms, though, and he didn't _look_ like someone who wasn't from around here, either."

"True," Tim said nodding. "Can I take a look?"

Calleigh hesitated a moment, but handed him the folder. "It'll wait for the morning too, you know."

"Mmm," he mumbled, looking through the papers she'd gathered.

"It _is_ getting late," she said.

"Right," he said, still not looking up at her. She'd been right. There wasn't much on this guy. That was a new wrinkle, something wholly unfamiliar. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he thought about how it fit in. Someone who wouldn't be missed, from the looks of things. Someone who maybe wasn't using his real identity? Had they run the victim's prints yet?

"Well, _I_ am going home," Calleigh said, pointedly.

He looked up. "That's fine."

"Just don't stay too late," she sighed.

"I won't," he said.

She shook her head and he thought he heard her mutter something along the lines of "Sure you won't" as she walked out of the lab, leaving him alone to ruminate.


	5. Chapter 5

He jerked awake as he rolled off his bed, tangled in the bedsheets. Breathing heavily, he tried to get his bearings from the pile of blankets on the floor. He'd left the lab around 11, four hours after Calleigh, and he vaguely remembered that it had been around midnight when he'd laid down on the bed, not expecting to sleep. He scraped a hand over his sweaty face and squinted up at the alarm clock. 2:53. Maybe three hours of sleep then.

He untangled himself from the sheets, leaving them on the floor as he wandered out of the bedroom. _Wednesday, it was Wednesday now_, he thought. The house was silent and dark and shadowy. He didn't turn on the lights as he roamed through the rooms. The guest room with the neatly made bed. The smallest bedroom that he'd turned into an office, crammed full of bookshelves and books. The kitchen, with the clean dishes resting neatly in the dishrack. The living room, also full of books and DVDs. It was too quiet as he paced faster and faster around the house.

_It's twelve years gone by now._ The persistent, sensible voice. The one that he knew he should listen to, but couldn't. _At what point does this become ridiculous, Timmy?_

"Go away," he whispered.

_Talking to yourself? Never a good sign. _

"Shut up," he said, louder, startling a cat that was dozing on a chair at the kitchen table.

_I can't tell you anything you don't already know._

He squeezed his eyes shut, and began to pace again, finally fetching up in the bathroom, where he finally turned on a light. He was still breathing hard, could hear his heartbeat in his ears, as he stared at his disheveled reflection in the mirror. "You need a shower," he said, aloud, after a long moment. A shower, and maybe a shave. Yes.

He didn't know how long he stood under the hot water. Long enough to not quite run out of hot water. Long enough that he felt a bit calmer. But the house was still too dark and too quiet. He shaved carefully, afraid of cutting himself with his shaky hands, and got dressed. Staying here was not an option. Too dark, too quiet. Need to get out.

Stepping outside, he found that it had finally stopped raining. He stood in the carport and considered his bike. _If you get on the bike and start riding will you come back? Do you trust yourself? You've got responsibilities here. _

He had to admit the sensible voice was right. He turned abruptly away and started walking up the road to the main street a couple blocks away. He reached the brightly lit street just as a bus came around the corner, and hurried to catch it at the stop. The driver smiled at him as he climbed on and fumbled for the fare. He was a quarter short, he discovered. "Damn," he muttered, turning to get off.

"It's ok, hon," the driver said. "You look like you could use a break"

He looked at her, uncomprehending. "I'm short, I'm sorry,"

"No, it's fine, really. That's fare enough for me," she said, gesturing at his badge clipped to the waistband of his jeans. He didn't even remember putting it on. Automatic habits.

"You're sure? I don't want to cause trouble for you," he said, uncertainly.

"I'm sure. Go on and sit down." She waved him towards the back of the bus.

"Thanks," he mumbled, sitting down in the middle of the bus. The still-damp pavement glittered as the bus moved through the city. It was late enough that the clubs were mostly quiet, and early enough that there were few people on the streets. The traffic was light on the causeway, and he stared out across the water, unseeing. The wheels of the bus hit the pavement on the other side of the bridge with a definite thump that jarred him awake to count the blocks until his stop. Two, three, five, seven, eight, nine, and pull the cord.

As he made his way to the door of the bus, the driver stopped him. "Here, take a transfer, to get you back, ok?" she said.

"Thanks," he said, again, accepting the piece of paper.

"No problem. Be careful out there, now," she said, closing the doors behind him and pulling away.

The lab was still ten blocks distant. There was another bus that would get him closer, but he didn't want to wait, so he began to walk. The air was humid, but cooler than it had been. Starting to get to fall, such as it was in Miami. He breathed slowly, in the thick air of his adopted city. Heat and humidity and palm trees couldn't be more different from changing colors, frost and chill of upstate New York. He wanted it that way.

It was nearing five when he reached the lab. Early, but not so much so that people would comment. He didn't need someone telling H he'd stayed late and then come early. Didn't really need anyone asking questions. They probably would anyway, he knew, but the less he gave them to question the better. Calleigh and Alexx would probably disagree, but sometimes, he needed to work more than he needed to eat and sleep. It might not be physically healthy, but he couldn't help believing that it was probably healthier than being home and trying to keep himself from putting his fist through a window. Or driving around tired, trying not to crash into anything. He needed something else to concentrate on. Work gave him plenty enough to distract him.

He wandered down to his office, avoiding the night shift crew. The hallways were quiet, making it easier. The supply list was still sitting on his desk. That would do. It needed to be done anyway. He'd worked the victimology and the trace on the case to dead ends before he'd given up and gone home, so there wasn't anything there other than the still nagging feeling that it was too familiar. He couldn't go to the scene this early- Calleigh would kill him, both for working this early and for going without her. It would have to wait until she got in.

The supply list was enough to keep him busy, but not enough to distract. His mind kept wandering back to the crime scene, making lists for things to check for. An hour later, he was ready to just go ahead and go to the scene without Calleigh. She'd probably scold him anyway for being so obsessive over the case whether he waited for her or not. Her patience was wearing thin, he knew. He had just made up his mind to go when she walked into the lab.

"What...?" she said, surprised. "I didn't see your car. You _did_ go home, right?"

"Yes, Calleigh. I went home," he sighed.

"What time?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "Don't remember," he mumbled, unwilling to admit how late he had stayed the night before.

"You don't remember," she said in disbelief. He shrugged again. "Well, what time did you…no, never mind," she sighed. She looked at him intently, as though he was a piece of evidence.

"We need to go back to the scene," he said, squirming under the scrutiny.

"I know," she replied. "All right, then. Give me ten minutes, I'll meet you at the truck."

"Ok," he said, gathering the supply paperwork quickly, before she could change her mind about arguing with him. He just wanted to work. He would never understand what was so bad about that.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Delko was frustrated. Tim could tell in the way he slammed into the lab. He'd never say so, but Delko scared him a little bit when he was angry or frustrated. He could be unpredictable, and Tim didn't really like that. He liked things to be orderly and routine, even when the order and the routine were only in his head, and no one else could see it.

"What?" he asked, looking at Eric.

Eric shook his head. "Just the case," he replied.

"Yeah." He could sympathize. The scene hadn't yielded up any earth shattering revelations. There had been no condom in the trash, no missed trace evidence, and no new evidence about the identity of the victim. Tim was convinced now that the victim was using an assumed identity, but there was no proof in the house. But the identity was too thin, and didn't fit right. He'd been poring over the DNA reports when Eric came in, hoping that there might be something else he could use.

Eric sighed and leaned against the counter. "Where's Cal?"

"No idea," he replied. "Talking to Alexx, maybe."

"You guys have nothing, too?" Delko asked.

He nodded. "Nothing but déjà vu," he sighed.

Delko snorted, and was quiet. Tim chewed the inside of his cheek in his own frustration. He couldn't tell anymore if there was really nothing there, or if he just wasn't seeing it in his exhaustion. He wouldn't admit it, but his eyes kept going in and out of focus, blurring the words on the report, and he had that disconnected feeling that came from too little food and too little sleep. He sighed, and went over to check on something at the computer.

"You're limping," Delko said, breaking the silence.

"What?" he asked, startled.

"I said, you're limping," Delko replied.

"Oh," he said. He hadn't noticed that his knee was aching until Delko pointed out his limp. "I didn't notice."

"You ok?" Delko asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," he said, shaking his head. "It's no big deal."

"Right," Delko said, skeptically.

Before he could reply, Calleigh and Horatio entered the lab. "I just got back from talking to the DA," H said to Eric.

"Yeah?" Eric replied.

H shook his head. "It's a non-starter. He won't take the case. I had to let Piper go."

"Damnit," Eric cursed, slamming his hand down on the counter. Tim jumped and blinked.

"Eric," H said, warningly.

"I know," he sighed. "Sorry, H."

"It's all right," H said. He turned his gaze onto Tim, who attempted to look more together despite the wave of dizziness that swam through him as he straightened up. "Calleigh says you guys are having a rough time of it," he said.

He shrugged. "I don't know." Calleigh opened her mouth to say something, but stopped.

"Ok," H said. "Ok, this is what we're going to do. We're going to call it a day and start fresh in the morning. Why don't you all go and get some rest, and we'll see where things stand tomorrow."

"H, there's still…" Tim protested, but was cut off.

"Speed, the reports will be there in the morning. And you will be too, after a good night's sleep," Horatio said. "I want you to go home and get some rest."

"We will," Calleigh said before he could say anything.

"Good. I will see you all in the morning," Horatio replied, as he left the lab.

Delko sighed. "I'd better go clear off the layout table before I go, otherwise night shift won't have anywhere to work."

"Ok," Calleigh replied. She turned her attention to Tim as Delko left them alone in the room. "All right, cowboy, pack it up. We're going to go eat, and then I'm taking you home and putting you to bed," she said, in a voice that brooked no argument.

"Cal," he started, but stopped when he saw the look on her face. "Ok," he sighed.

"Good. You've got ten minutes, and I want to see you in the lobby," she told him as she turned to leave. He sighed and gathered his things, ignoring the dizziness that swept over him again as he stood.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Do you think you can eat just a little more of that?" Calleigh asked him. They were sitting next to each other in a booth at Silvio's, a restaurant that Calleigh and Eric both liked. Tim thought it was all right, but it was always noisy and crowded and tonight it was making his head pound. He picked up his fork, though, and tried another mouthful of the rice. "Good," Calleigh said, smiling a little. "You're getting too thin again," she said softly.

He didn't reply, but didn't take another bite, either. "Who's Eric talking to again?" he asked, looking over to where Eric was crouched down by a table across the dining room.

"A cousin or something, I don't know. I didn't catch what he said," Calleigh replied. "He always knows someone in here." She sighed and leaned back, closing her eyes. He said nothing, just sitting there, staring at the plate of food in front of him.

"You're about ready for bed, huh?" Calleigh asked after a moment, as she turned to face him in the booth. He shrugged. He was so dizzy and drowsy that there was no fight left in him. He'd let her take him home and put him to bed. "Can you finish this, or do you want to take some of it home?" she asked, gesturing towards his plate.

He was about to answer when her cell phone rang. "Duquesne," she said, answering it. Her face tightened at the response from the other end, and he knew immediately it was someone telling her to pick up her father. "Right. Yes, ok, tell him I'll be there in about half an hour. Thank you," she said. She sighed, again, and then looked at him. "Would you be all right with Eric taking you home, maybe?" she asked.

He nodded. "It's ok."

"All right," she said, softly, smiling at him sadly. She reached out and smoothed down his hair. "I'll tell him you're about ready to go, ok?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Ok," she said, touching his cheek. "You're going to be ok, Tim."

He didn't respond, other than looking away. She squeezed his shoulder and slipped out of the booth. He saw her walk over to Eric and say something to him, gesturing back towards Tim. Eric nodded understanding, and they talked for a moment before she left the restaurant.

Eric talked with his cousins a moment longer, then made his way back to the table. "Hey, sorry about that. I haven't seen my cousin for a while."

"It's fine," he replied.

"Are you going to finish that?" Eric asked, indicating his plate.

Tim looked at the food for a moment longer, then shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Ok, let's get you home, then," Eric said.

Tim nodded and slid out of the booth. His knee buckled under him when he tried to stand up and the accompanying wave of dizziness made him gasp. "Ok, ok, I've got you, it's ok," Eric said, grabbing his arm to keep him upright. "You all right?" he asked after a moment.

"Fine," Tim replied, getting his bearings back.

"Right," Eric said, his voice growing tight. "All right, let's go." He put some money on the table and led Tim out of the restaurant. Tim was wobbly, but he managed to walk outside and climb up into Eric's truck under his own power. He sighed as his head hit the back of the seat. "No, man, you can't pass out on me yet, Speed. I don't know how to get to your place," Eric warned.

Tim fought drowsiness as he said, "It's across the causeway."

"All right," Eric replied.

They drove in silence, with Tim indicating directions periodically. Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in Tim's driveway. "Ok," Tim said, groggily, as he reached for the door handle.

"No, wait a minute, man. I promised Calleigh I'd make sure you got in and to bed ok," Eric said, getting out of the car.

"I'm fine, Delko," Tim protested. "I can do for myself." He tried to climb out of the car, but he was so dizzy he couldn't stand.

"Damnit, Speed. Hold still," Eric snapped. "You _can't_ do for yourself right now. For Christ sake, just let me help you, ok?" he said, holding Tim's shoulders up.

"I…" Tim started, but Eric interrupted.

"No, you _listen_ to me. It is _ok_ to need help. It is _ok_ to ask for help. It is _ok_ to say, hey, I can't do this on my own. Do you understand that? Do you understand that is why you have friends? Do you _get_ that I'm your friend? And that I'm worried about you?" He paused, as Tim stiffened under his hands. "Look, I'm just trying to help, ok? Let me help you. I promise I won't ask any questions and you don't have to tell me anything. I just want to get you in the house and get you to bed, because you can't even stand up right now. Ok? That's all. Promise."

"Ok," Tim whispered.

"Ok. Give me your keys," Delko directed. Tim dug them out of his pocket and handed them over. "Good. All right, give me your arm," he said, slinging it over his shoulder. They moved up the walkway to the porch, and Delko opened the screen door to unlock the front door.

"No, wait, the cats," Tim said. "You gotta block the door so they won't get out."

"You have cats?" Delko asked, sounding surprised.

"Yeah," Tim replied, struggling to get the door open. Delko grabbed him before he toppled into the house.

"Huh. Don't know that I'd have thought of you as a cat person," Eric mused. Tim didn't reply, but let Delko steer him into the house and shut the door behind them. "Ok, bedroom is in what direction?" Eric asked.

"Down the hall," Tim said, nodding.

"Got it," Erik helped him limp down the hall to his room. "Your house is really obsessively neat," he remarked, glancing around.

"Calleigh's desk is the messy one," Tim mumbled.

"I know," Eric replied. "Whoa, dude, what did you do to the bed?" he asked, as they entered the bedroom and found the bed sheets where Tim had left them on the floor. He shrugged. Eric sighed and said, "Ok, where's your pajamas? Can you get changed and cleaned up on your own and I'll make your bed back up?"

"Yeah," Tim said, steadying himself on the door frame.

"Ok. Yell if you need me, ok?" Eric said, looking at him apprehensively. Tim simply nodded and made his way to the bathroom.

He changed into the gym shorts and t-shirt he slept in, cleaned up and dug around in the medicine cabinet for the bottle of anti-inflammatories for his knee. Swallowing the pill, he limped back towards the bedroom to find Eric nearly finished making the bed.

"How many cats do you have, anyway," Eric asked, glancing at the two who were supervising the bed making.

"Three," he replied.

"Huh. All right, then," Eric shrugged and turned to help Tim lower himself down on to the bed. Eric's attention was caught by something as he swung his legs up onto the bed, and Tim was startled when Eric reached out and gently pushed the hem of his shorts over his knee. He stiffened when he realized that Eric had noticed the scars from the knee surgeries he'd had after the accident. Eric opened his mouth to say something, but reconsidered, perhaps remembering his promise not to ask questions. "It's warm in here, do you have air conditioning?" he asked instead.

"Don't need it on, just open the windows," Tim said, relaxing as he pulled the sheets over him, hiding his battered leg.

"No problem," Eric said, walking around to open one of the two windows in the room. "I put the blankets from the bed over here on the trunk, are you going to want them?"

"Can I have the blue one?" he asked.

"Of course," Eric replied, bringing the blue blanket over and spreading it over him. "That ok?"

"Yeah," Tim mumbled, laying back. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Eric replied. He hesitated a moment, then crouched down next to the bed and added, "Look, I didn't mean to yell at you, earlier. It's just…you're really hard to be a friend to, sometimes, because you're so hard to help. And it's frustrating, because I want to help- _we_ want to help- but you won't let us in to know how we _can_ help. We care about you, you know? And we don't like seeing you wrecked up like this, ok?"

Tim didn't look at him. "Ok," he whispered.

"Ok," Eric said. He regarded Tim a moment longer, then asked, "Are you ok on your own? Do you want me to stay over?"

Tim shook his head. "No. I'm ok."

"All right then," Eric said. "Can the door lock from the inside, or do you have a spare key I can lock it up with?"

"It locks on the inside, in the knob," he said, sleepily.

"Ok, good. You get some sleep, ok? And listen, if you wind up sleeping in a bit, it's all right, I'll cover you, you hear?" Eric said.

"Yeah, I hear," he mumbled.

"All right," Eric said. He reached out and touched Tim's shoulder. "Sleep well. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Night," Tim mumbled, as sleep dragged him down hard.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

* * *

AN: Thank you all again for such great reviews! I'm really glad you're all enjoying this. However, I have to warn you that updates might become a good bit less frequent for the next little while. This is partly because I now have to connect two parts of the story and I'm not quite sure how that will happen just yet, and because I've also gotten a good idea for part of this that I need to play with a bit to figure out how it will work out. And it's also partly because I have to write much less fun and interesting things now because my school semester ends in three weeks. So bear with me, please. I think I've left you all with a mostly ok temporary stopping point, at least (i.e., not very cliffhanger-y)...

* * *

He woke up without a start for the first time in over a week. Disoriented, he laid still for a moment, trying to figure out how long he'd been asleep. The clock said 1:47. He vaguely remembered that it had been dinner time at the restaurant, and he thought it might still have been light out when Eric had gotten him home. His body still felt heavy with exhaustion as he shifted position to stare at the ceiling. One of the cats protested this move, and he reached out to stroke her as she settled against him in a new position. Another second cat had wrapped herself around his knee, doing a great impression of a heating pad. It felt good, and he wondered how the cat always knew when his knee hurt. But wondering about his knee took him too close to what he'd been avoiding.

_You really can't avoid it forever._

_I can try,_ he thought.

_You won't succeed. Again, Timmy, it's been twelve years. Exactly how long do you plan to punish yourself for this?_

_I'm not punishing myself. I just…don't want to think about it._

_None of it was your fault. You know that._

He sighed, and watched the curtains blow in the breeze. His house was close enough to the ocean to get a bit of the sea breeze at night, and it made the house pleasantly cool. He'd grown up without air conditioning. Syracuse summers were hot, but were only truly unpleasant for a week or two. They weren't nearly severe enough to really require air conditioning, and his parents hadn't wanted the expense. Not when they all spent 10 to 12 hours a day in the restaurant, which _was_ air conditioned because of the kitchens. He hated air conditioning, and only ever turned it on when the temperatures climbed into the 90s. It was too cold and too artificial. Besides, he spent all his time in the lab, with its arctic temperatures year round. And people wondered why he wore long sleeves and layers all year. He got cold all too easily, and he hated being cold. Hated cold and snow and winter.

_You didn't used to._

_Shut up. It doesn't matter._

_Twelve years is a long time to not go home, you know._

_It's not home. _

But somehow, it was, still, a little. His parents called every year in October and asked if he was going to come home for the holidays, and every year he said he wouldn't come. Not in the winter. Not with the snow and the memories. He hated the cold. But every year, he felt a little bit…homesick. Not enough to really even notice, but enough to remind him that he was not from Miami. He was not from the place of eternal warmth and no winters.

_Fine. Go in the summer then._

_I can't. _

_You can. You've got more vacation time saved up than anyone else in the lab. Including Horatio. _

_I know. I don't want to go anywhere. _

_You're scared to go anywhere. _

True, he had to admit. He was scared to leave Miami. He hadn't been more than fifty miles away from the city in more than three years. Before that, Megan had bribed him with a fairly substantial gift certificate to his favorite bookstore to go to a conference in Memphis, and even then he'd only gone because Alexx had gone too. He'd been anxious and miserable the whole time, had just wanted to go back to Miami. Even when he went out driving, feeling like he needed to get away or he'd explode, he never really went too far. Miami was safe. There were things that tethered him here. He'd arrived with almost nothing. Just the car, the clothes he was wearing, and a laundry basket full of odds and ends (mostly books, to be honest). Everything he had here, he'd built for himself. There was something to be said for that, and it made it harder to abandon. Which was good.

He had responsibilities and he couldn't leave them. He couldn't just run away again.

_There's a difference between visiting your parents and running away._

Enough. The case, the case. They had nothing but déjà vu, as he'd told Delko. It was immensely frustrating to have the answer in his head, but not being able to articulate it. He was sure it was there.

_Don't you think you'd be able to figure out what it was you were missing if you weren't mired down in the past?_

_Stop it._

_No one ever wanted this for you, you know. _

He shivered and tugged the blanket closer around him. His head hurt. It was there, on the edge of his memory. The answer was there.

He blinked and found himself in the crime scene. With Megan. "Ok, Tim, you've told me what you see, now tell me what you _don't_ see."

"What?" he asked, bewildered.

"What don't you see? Look around the entrance here," she said, pointing towards the entryway.

He looked, frowning. "There's nothing…the door isn't busted in?"

"Exactly. So what does that tell you?"

"That it was unlocked?" he asked.

"Right. What does that imply?" she asked, smiling a bit.

"I don't know," he admitted.

"Ok, think of it this way. You're in your apartment and for some reason you left the door unlocked. Someone you didn't invite in walks in the door. What do you do?" she asked.

"I make them get out," he said, nodding.

"And you do that by any means necessary, right? So what would your entryway look like?"

"It'd be a mess. And this isn't, so the victim probably let the attacker inside," he said, comprehending.

"Right! And we don't usually let strangers into our houses, right? So what else does that imply?" she asked, encouragingly.

"That it's a known assailant," he said, nodding.

"More than likely, yes. This is all implication, it's not something we _know_ for a fact yet. But implication gives you somewhere to start hanging evidence on, understand?" she explained.

"Yeah. I see that."

"Good. Ok, so our attacker is in the house, and we know him. Our victim is in a pretty compromising position up there, isn't he?" Tim nodded as she continued. "What did the bedroom look like?"

"Like the living room and the hallway. No real sign of a struggle," he said, slowly.

"Exactly. So that probably means that the attacker is someone the victim felt pretty comfortable with, no? But, look at the living room. What's missing from this picture, if the attacker is someone that the victim would be comfortable enough to sleep with?" she asked.

He looked around the living room, nothing jumping out at him. "I don't know."

"All right, let's use you as an example again. You're home and you know Bridget is coming over, right?" She grinned at his suddenly red face. "What do you do before she gets there?"

He shook his head, flustered. "I don't…"

"Think about it, Tim. You're anticipating a nice romantic evening. What do you do to get ready?"

"You clean the place up, man," Frank Tripp said, leaning in the doorway, before walking out the front door, as Tim looked around helplessly.

"Right," Megan said, nodding agreement. "You clean up, maybe put some decent music on the stereo, get a bottle of wine out and some glasses, maybe some food. Does it look like any of that happened here?"

He shook his head. "No. There's only one of everything," he said, gesturing towards the dish and the can of beer sitting on the coffee table.

"Exactly," Megan replied. "Now, that might not mean anything- there's plenty of reasons for why you might not go all out when you know your significant other comes over- but it might mean that our victim wasn't expecting this encounter."

Tim nodded. "Or maybe that the attacker wasn't his significant other?"

"Maybe," Megan nodded. "It's hard to tell, since we don't know anything about the victim yet, but that's a possibility." She smiled. "Good job. See, I told you you could do this!"

"But…" he said, looking around again. "But, Megan, I knew all of that."

"Once I got it out of you, you did," she agreed.

"No…where are we? _When_ are we?" he asked, frowning.

"Hialeah," she said, looking at him quizzically. "It's Tuesday."

"No, it's Thursday," he said, slowly. "This isn't…you're gone, but you're here."

"Of course. I'm always here, right now," she said, nodding.

"Because this is a dream. This is memory," he said, nodding. "This is…you're training me."

"Yes," she agreed.

"And I just passed Level One, right?"

"Right. Last month."

"Last month. And you're training me and we're in Hialeah, and this is… he looked around. "You and me and Frank. In Hialeah. And a known assailant. With a naked male corpse on a bed and anal penetration, it's this, isn't it. This is it!" he said, waking up with a start.

That was it. Megan and Frank and Hialeah. He was a Level One. It was there, all of it. He'd known it was. He rolled out of bed, ignoring the protesting cats and pulled on the first pieces of clothing he saw, jeans and a t-shirt, and a jacket. Moving quickly, he was out the door before he'd quite gotten his shoes on. He paused to put them on and tie them. It wasn't raining, was just getting to be sunrise, so he walked over to the bike and started it. He had to get to the lab; he knew what he was looking for now.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

* * *

AN: Thank you all again for the reviews. I'm glad you're all so willing to be patient, and I hope this will tide you over for a little. Oh, and I'm also kind of glad you all think the cats are great! Speed just seems like a cat person to me.

* * *

He went careening through the lab at just under top speed in an effort to get to the computer as quickly as he could. He just needed to know. 

Swinging around the corner, he almost plowed into Horatio before the older man reached out to grab his arm to stop him. "Whoa, there, Speed. What's going on?"

Tim shook his head, waving frantically towards the trace lab and the computer within. "I got it, I got it, I just have to find it," he said, pulling away and entering the trace lab.

Horatio followed and leaned against the counter as Tim feverishly typed terms into the departmental records search engine. "Hialeah…Megan…Frank…date," he said, stopping suddenly. "The date, the date…oh, hell."

"Hm?" Horatio said, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know…I was a Level One, but I don't remember…what year," he said, frowning, staring at nothing. "Twelve years gone…and then, and then…" he trailed off, thinking. Twelve years gone, and then a year and some lost. Then he'd come to Miami and Megan had talked him into going back to school, and he'd spent 18 months getting his degree. Then a couple of months being an intern, and then…had he passed the Level One right after that? "I was with Bridget yet, and you…were still with CSI," he said, looking over at Horatio. "You'd gotten pissed at me because I screwed something up, that's why Megan was training me," he said, realizing. "And that was in the spring, because I remember….Bridget had… left by the end of the summer, and I was….95? Was it 95?" he mumbled, entering it into the computer. Nine years ago? Had he really been a CSI nine years?

Ping. There it was, on the screen. "Yes, yes, that's it," he said, nodding. "It was a serial, but we didn't know it yet, because night shift had caught the first one and we didn't realize it until we caught the third."

Horatio leaned over to look at the screen. "Andrew Markham."

"Yeah, he was a sick bastard," Tim nodded. "I didn't like being in the same room with him, I remember now. He just…looked at me." He shivered, remembering how the man's eyes had seemed to undress him.

Horatio nodded. "I remember." He flicked past a few screens. "He was convicted, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure," Tim agreed. "We had a really good case after the third one, he got sloppy," he said, pulling up the convicted felon database.

"They always do," Horatio said.

"There he is," Tim mumbled, pulling the record up on the screen. "Convicted in 1996, sentenced to life…oh, hell," he said, pointing at the screen. "Paroled, August 2004".

"Well, that's interesting, isn't it?" Horatio said.

Tim shook his head in disbelief. "I…" he trailed off. His chest felt funny, like there was a giant weight on it. It was hard to breathe, suddenly. He couldn't figure it out. That case hadn't been something that he'd thought about much. He really wasn't all that upset about Markham getting parole. It happened all the time. Markham wasn't one of his nightmares, the criminals who really scared him. A sick bastard, yes, but if he got worked up over all the sick bastards he saw…

He doubled over, feeling like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Speed?" Horatio asked, concerned.

"I'm…it's ok," he managed to gasp out, as he tried to straighten up. Falling apart in front of Horatio was _not_ something he wanted to do. It was one thing to do so in front of Calleigh or Alexx or even Eric. All they could do was pester him to death. Horatio could put him on leave.

Horatio put a hand on his back. "Easy, Speed, easy. Take a deep breath now, all right?" he said, gently.

Tim took a deep shuddering breath around the sudden lump in the back of his throat. His eyes stung. _Oh, God, not here, not now, nothere, notnow…._ He'd identified it, now. Knew what was happening.

_I told you, you can't avoid it forever. _

_Not now…Oh, please, not now. _

He took several breaths, forcing the tears back and the lump away from his throat, reasserting some semblence of control. "I'm ok," he croaked.

Horatio frowned. "You want to tell me what that was about?" Tim shook his head. "Not good enough, Speed. Try again. You want to tell me what that was about?"

Tim took another deep breath, mind racing. _I can't, I can't…_

_You can. _

_I really can't…Oh God._

_It's easy, Timmy. You open your mouth and say, "My best friend died twelve years ago…"_

_Stop it._

"…_. and I had a nervous breakdown…"_

_No. No, no, no._

"… _and ran away for a year…."_

_I…don't….stop…._

"…_and I never got over blaming myself…"_

…_stop…please_

"…_and I never quite figured out how to live."_

"No!" he burst out. "No," he said, more quietly. "I can't, H, really, I can't," he babbled.

"All right," Horatio said gently. "All right." He looked at Tim, speculatively.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see Horatio's eyes on him. Horatio could probably drag it out of him if he tried hard enough. But Tim wasn't sure if there would be anything left when he was done.

"Tim. Look at me." He opened his eyes, reluctantly. "Good. Listen to me. You have not been yourself this week."

He knew. He tried to look away, but Horatio's hand reached out and forced him to look back.

"You've been out of it, and you've worked yourself into a state of exhaustion."

"I slept…" his protest died on his lips at the look Horatio gave him.

"You're exhausted. And you're manic. You're a danger to yourself and anyone around you in the field, and I can't have that. I can't let you go out there and place yourself and your teammates in danger. I can't do that, and furthermore, I won't do that. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Good," Horatio said. "I don't like to do this, but I really think it might be best for you to take some time away."

"No, please, H. I can do this, I really can. I promise," he said, frantically. _Don't take my job away…_

"Speed…Tim…look at you. You can barely sit up straight. You're heading for a breakdown and I won't have it. I need you too much," Horatio said.

"I know, I know, but just give me another chance, ok? I swear, I can get it together," he said, pleadingly.

Horatio sat silently for a moment, regarding Tim, who tried his best to look together and sane. "All right," he sighed. "This is what we're going to do. Since you seem to have made a breakthrough here on this case, I am going to let you pursue it for now. However," he said, sternly, "you are grounded to the lab for the rest of the week. You are not to go out into the field. If, for some reason, your specific presence is required at the scene, in _my_ judgment, then I will accompany you to the scene. Otherwise, you are here, in the lab. You will not leave the building without my knowledge. You _will_ go home at 6PM, no excuses. And you will not come back until 7AM tomorrow morning. You will leave again tomorrow at 6PM. You will take all of your breaks, including full lunch breaks. You will not work over the weekend- you won't even take anything home with you. If the case is still active as of Monday morning, we will revisit the matter then. But," he said, raising a finger, "if on Monday, I feel that you are still a danger to yourself and to the team, you will be placed on medical leave until a mental health professional clears you to return. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he whispered, looking away.

"Look at me," Horatio commanded, reaching out to turn his face towards him. "This is your one chance, Tim. This is all you get. If you can't get it together by Monday, that is it. I can't give you more than this. Asking for help will definitely be a point in your favor. If you can't sleep, I expect you to tell someone so we can do something about it. If someone needs to stay with you this weekend to ensure you rest and don't work, then that is what we will do. I am giving you this chance because I think you can pull yourself out of this, but I do not believe you can do it alone. You need to tell us what you need. Do you understand?"

Tim squirmed, but nodded.

"Good," Horatio said, releasing his chin. "Now, did you eat breakfast?" He shook his head no. "All right then, let's rectify that first," Horatio said, standing up. "Come on, I'll buy."

Tim let Horatio lead him out of the lab, aware that he really had little choice in the matter.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

* * *

Tim was sitting with the archived case file spread out over the layout table when Calleigh entered the room. "Hey," she said, sitting down.

He looked up at her, speculatively. "What did you tell Horatio?"

"Good morning, Calleigh. How are you this morning? Isn't it nice that it's stopped raining?" she said, sarcastically.

"What did you tell Horatio," he repeated, with more irritation.

"Tim…"

"No. What did you tell him, Calleigh?" he said. "You had to have told him something."

"He asked me a question, all right? A direct question which I answered. What the hell do you think I'd do, Tim? My God," she said, angrily.

He sat back, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he said, softly. "It's just…"

"I know what it's just," she replied, sighing. "But really, Tim. There's a lot of things I'll overlook, and a lot of things I'll do to cover you, but none of those things include out and out lying for you. To Horatio, in response to a direct question of all things. At least not without a hell of a lot more to go on than you're giving me."

"I know," he said, looking down at the table.

"And you shouldn't expect me to, either," she added.

"I don't, really," he replied.

"Good," she said. "Now, then, Horatio did talk to me this morning about what he told you. And I talked to Alexx already."

"Yeah?" he asked, warily.

"Yeah. We decided I'm staying the night with you tonight. Alexx is going to stay with you tomorrow night and Saturday, and then I'll stay with you Sunday," she replied.

"I…" he started, but she cut him off.

"Don't you even," she said sharply. "You've lost your choice in the matter."

"Ok," he said, in a small voice.

She softened, looking at him. "Look, Tim, it's not that we want to intrude or boss you around, but we all know you're not going to ask for the help. Even though Horatio told you to, you're not going to be able to. Alexx and I know you too well. So this way you don't have to ask. We've already decided for you. It's out of your hands."

"Ok," he repeated. He knew she was right. He didn't like it, but he had to admit it.

"Ok, then," she said, gently. "Now, then, what's all this?"

"The original case file. I told you I'd find it," he said, turning back to the papers.

"I know," she said. "Anything pertinent yet?"

He shrugged and handed her the list he'd been working on. One column listed similarities to the case and the other listed the differences. The similarities list was much longer. "Enough maybe to have a talk with Markham."

She looked at the list, nodding. "Looks that way. Do we know where he might be?"

Tim sighed. "Not yet, no."

"Ah," she said. She looked over the papers in front of her, picking one up and reading it idly. "Huh."

"What?" he asked.

"I didn't know you were a CSI in 95," she replied.

He shrugged. "I didn't remember, either. I'd lost track."

She frowned at him. "You just turned thirty, didn't you?"

"End of June, yeah," he said, turning his attention back to the file.

"You were twenty-one when you started?" she asked, somewhat incredulously.

His hand paused over a page as he thought. "Yeah, must have been, I guess. No, wait, I was twenty, yet. It was in the spring."

"How on earth did you manage that?" she asked. "Did you graduate early?"

He bit his lip. "Calleigh….it's not important, you know," he said, not wanting to discuss it further. He felt more in control than he had earlier, but he wasn't sure how long it would last if she kept pushing.

"No, I guess not, but still," she said. "I was just surprised, is all."

"It's ok," he replied.

"Anyway," she said, looking back at the file.

They had been looking over the file quietly for a few minutes, when he said suddenly, "Yes. I did."

"Hm?" she asked.

"I did graduate early. To answer your question," he said, still not looking at her.

"Ok," she said. She didn't pursue the line of questioning further, and he relaxed a bit.

They kept perusing the file in silence until Eric interrupted them by sitting down at the table. "Hey, did you get some sleep?" he asked.

"Yeah," Tim replied, glancing up.

"Good," he said. "What's all this?"

"Tim remembered what case reminded him of this one, finally," Calleigh said.

"Ah. Good news?" Eric asked.

"Maybe," Tim shrugged. "Not sure just yet."

"Well, better than nothing, huh?" Eric said. They both nodded in response. "Hey, Calleigh, did you know Speed has cats?"

Calleigh looked up and smiled. "I did, actually. Did you get to meet them last night?"

"Two of them, anyway. You have three?" he asked Tim.

"Yeah," Tim mumbled, still concentrating on the case.

"You only saw the two? Didn't Strawberry come out for you?" Calleigh asked.

"Strawberry doesn't like visitors. She was probably hiding under the couch," Tim replied, glancing up at her. "She only comes out when you're there because she likes you for some reason."

"Well, don't I feel special" Calleigh teased.

"Wait, one of your cats is named Strawberry?" Eric asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Strawberry Jam, actually," Calleigh grinned. "Goes with Toast and Cider, who are the two you met, I presume."

"You named your cats after food?" Eric laughed.

Tim felt his face redden slightly as he explained. "It's tradition, sort of. When I was growing up, we named the cats Rice Pilaf, Pasta, and Hot Chocolate. And Pickle, who they got after I left, I guess. And my dad had a dog named Jellybean that he got before I was born. It's kind of a theme, goes with the restaurant, sort of."

"So you kept the theme going," Calleigh said, nodding.

"Well, yeah, sort of. Except for Marnie, but she's the only one whose name I knew to begin with and she never did answer to anything else," he said, shrugging.

"That's four," Eric pointed out. "And what do you mean whose name you knew to begin with?"

"Marnie died, I don't know, five, six, years back? She was the second cat I had. Cider was the first. And then there was Tea, who came with Toast, but she died too, three or four years ago. Something like that. I got Strawberry maybe a year ago? She's the baby," he said. "I knew Marnie's name because it was on her tag when I got her. They're all crime scene rescues," he explained.

"You got them from scenes?" Eric asked, confused.

"Sort of. They're cats that were left behind and no one from the victim's family or friends claimed them. They'd have gone to the pound otherwise. It doesn't happen all that often, but sometimes no one wants the pets. They've mostly come from scenes I didn't work, though, except for Cider. Randy, from the clean-up crew, will call me up sometimes, when he's got an unclaimed pet to see if I know anyone who'll take it. Melinda from night shift has taken a couple of the dogs, I know. Randy tries to take them to the no-kill shelter if he can, but sometimes, they just have to go to Animal Control," he explained. "But usually, the family will claim the pet when they go to claim the rest of the belongings."

"Huh. I'd never thought about that," Eric said.

Tim nodded. "I hadn't, either, until I found out what was going to happen to Cider. Her previous owner was an elderly woman who didn't have any family to claim her." He shrugged. "Anyway. That's the story of the cats."

The three of them lapsed into silence again as Tim and Calleigh continued to go through the paper work. "If Markham was paroled," Calleigh said, suddenly, "wouldn't his parole officer know where he is?"

"I tried that already," Tim sighed. "The PO hasn't established contact yet, he was just paroled at the end of last month."

"Well, that's good," Calleigh said, sarcastically.

"Isn't it," he sighed.

"Well, parolees have to register, isn't his address in the system?" Eric asked.

"Tried that, too. They're backlogged and haven't gotten the system updated. Someone down there is going through the files to see if they can find the card, but since Markham's not a registered sex offender, he's not on the priority list," Tim replied.

"You'd think he would be," Calleigh said. "Look at this," she said, holding up an autopsy report from one of the victims.

"I know. But we never could prove he did anything ante-mortem, because it would have gotten covered up by the post-mortem stuff. So we just got him on murder. And mutilation of a corpse, but that hardly mattered once we got down to it," he sighed.

"Lovely," Calleigh sighed.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"So you still have pretty much a whole lot of nothing," Eric summarized.

"Yes, Delko, thank you so much for pointing that out," he grumbled as Calleigh glared at Eric.

"Sorry," he shrugged.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," Calleigh said, frustrated. "Let's go eat lunch and see if they can come up with an address for us by the time we get back."

Tim considered protesting that it was barely 11:30, but decided against it. "Ok."

"Wait, did you just say ok? To taking a break?" Delko asked, incredulously.

"Eric, don't," Calleigh said, warningly.

"What? I'm just teasing," Eric protested.

"Leave it alone, Eric," she repeated.

"Excuse me, I'm right here," Tim said, irritably.

"Sorry, man. I didn't mean anything by it," Eric said.

"It's fine. Let's go, if we're going to," he said, not looking at either of them. He didn't want to see the looks he was sure they were exchanging.

"All right, then. Lunch it is," Calleigh said, leading the way out of the room.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

* * *

AN: We're getting to the home stretch here, folks. But buckle up, because it's going to get to be quite a ride from here on out...

* * *

He was laying drowsy eyed on the couch as a movie flickered past on the TV. Calleigh had rented movies and brought popcorn over with her, in an attempt to make it seem more like something they had planned to do, instead of what it really was: babysitting. He didn't care, really. It wasn't like he'd had a choice in the matter. And therefore, why should he care?

He was really too tired to actually follow the movie. All he could tell was it had something to do with dancers or cheerleaders or something along those lines, and wasn't something he would really be interested in, even if he weren't exhausted. To be fair, Calleigh _had_ called him from the Blockbuster to ask his opinion, but he hadn't really been in the mood for choosing a movie, so he'd told her that whatever she wanted was fine by him. He'd have to remember, in the future, that Calleigh, for all of her fascination with guns and science, was a _girl_. It wasn't like he forgot this fact, exactly; it was more like it didn't really come up until she went to rent movies, apparently, or was in the supermarket line looking at tabloids.

It had been an excruciating day. Every time his tenuous self-control slipped even a little bit, the people around him had exchanged concerned looks. And he had never been left alone. Virtually all day long, someone else had been in the room with him. He understood, somewhat, but it didn't mean he had to like it. Having people around all day had really just irritated him, and that just made things worse. By the end of the day, he'd been plenty ready to go home, just so he could stop swallowing his irritation. He wouldn't have put it past Horatio to do that on purpose, just to make him _want_ to leave the lab.

Calleigh had cut him a break and let him go home on his own while she went by her apartment to pick up some clothes and stop by Blockbuster. And really, it wasn't so bad if it was just Calleigh. She might push him, but she knew when to back off, and he could refuse to answer her and she'd leave it alone, most of the time, anyway. She hadn't asked him a single question that didn't relate to the movies or food the entire night, and he really was grateful for that. And, if he was honest, he was kind of glad she was there, because it made the house less dark and quiet and distracted him from his head. He felt pretty sure that hadn't been the intention, but he wasn't really ready to face his head just yet. He was almost content curled up on the couch with Cider snuggled up against him. That was more than enough, tonight.

"So, what do you think, bud? Another movie, or you want to go to bed? It's 9:30," Calleigh said from her seat in the armchair. The movie was apparently over. He hadn't even noticed.

"Don't care," he mumbled. "Whatever."

"You think you can sleep yet?" she asked.

"Maybe," he admitted.

"Alexx gave me something for you, if you want it," she offered.

"What did she send," he asked, unsurprised.

"Let me check," Calleigh said, getting up to retrieve her purse from the table by the front door. "Ambien," she said, coming back into the living room and sitting down on the coffee table, facing him.

He thought about it. He hated the groggy, muzzy sleeping pill hangover, which he got, even if the ad copy on the pills said he shouldn't, but if he took one, then he'd be sure to sleep the night through. It hadn't been an option, previously- he didn't trust himself quite enough to keep them in the house, and besides, the over-the-counter pills weren't strong enough to keep him down all night. Sleeping all night without his head running in the same circles was very attractive. "All right."

"Ok, then. Do you need to be in bed before you take it?" she asked.

"Probably," he said, struggling to sit up.

"All righty. You go get ready for bed, and I'll clean up in here, ok?" she asked.

"Fine," he said, levering himself up off the couch.

He'd changed into his pajamas when he'd gotten home from work, so he just needed to brush his teeth and such. Calleigh brought the pills and a glass of water to him shortly after he'd crawled into bed "Here," she offered.

"Thanks," he mumbled, knocking the pill back with a gulp of water.

She smiled at him a little. "All good?"

"Yeah," he replied, laying back.

"Good. Are there sheets on the bed in the guest room?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's all made up," he said.

"Ok. Yell if you need me, ok?" she said.

He nodded, and she left him alone to stare at the ceiling until the medication took hold and knocked him out.

He swam back up into consciousness some time later. 5:00, the clock read, just thirty minutes before the alarm. Despite the groggy hangover, he dragged himself out of bed. Stumbling out into the living room, he looked around. Something was…off. Not quite right. He paused in the middle of the room for a long moment, trying to determine what it was, when Calleigh's purse caught his eye. That was it, it was just Calleigh in the house, nothing to be alarmed about. He relaxed slightly and stretched, trying to will himself awake.

Wandering into the kitchen for a glass of water, he caught sight of the calendar on the refrigerator. September 17th. _Oh._ Twelve years now exactly, later today. He turned away from the kitchen and went through the breezeway to the back door. His hands shook as he fumbled with the doorknob, but he got the door open and walked out onto the back patio.

It was dark yet, and cool. His eyes wandered over the bit of overgrown jungle that he called a backyard as he tried not to think.

_It's all right, Timmy. _

_Don't. _

_You didn't do it, you know._

_I did, though. If it hadn't been for me, he wouldn't have needed the surgery in the first place._

_No one blames you. Lisa and George don't, and if anyone should, it's them. _

_They should. It was my fault. And then I couldn't fix it._

_Tim, you were 18. How the hell were you going to fix it?_

_I…don't know. But I should have fixed it. You fix the things you break. _

_Some things aren't fixable. _

He sat down on one of the chairs, pulling his knees up to his aching chest. His eyes blurred, but he fought the tears. He didn't want to cry. It hurt too much for crying.

Calleigh found him sitting out there an hour later when she woke up. "Are you ok?" she asked, standing over him.

He shook his head, afraid to talk. He couldn't even deny anything was wrong anymore.

"What is it?" she asked

He shook his head again.

"Are you up to going to work at all?" she asked.

"I…don't think so," he admitted, in a croak.

"Then you don't have to go," she said simply, sitting down on one of the other chairs. "I'll call you out with Horatio. He'll be fine with it."

He nodded, looking away from her.

"Do you want me to stay?" she asked after a moment.

"You can't. One of us has to go in," he said, still not looking at her.

"I know. I just don't want you to be alone if you don't want to be," she said softly.

"I'm ok alone," he replied, taking a deep breath. "Really," he said, looking at her finally.

"What will you do?" she asked.

He shrugged a little. "I don't know."

Her mouth twisted at that answer. "Fair enough. I'll come by at lunch, though, ok?"

He nodded. "Fine."

"You call if you need me, all right?" she asked.

"I will," he agreed.

"Ok. At least eat something before I go," she said, reaching her hand out to him.

He was decidedly not hungry, but he took her hand anyway. "Ok," he said, letting her lead him back into the house. He didn't have anything left to fight with.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

* * *

I finished one of my papers, can you tell? Heh. I've got another to write, so bear with me. But in celebration, you all get a chapter. I think it's a pretty fair trade, no?

* * *

"Timmy?" He raised his head at Alexx's voice. After Calleigh left, he'd wandered back to the patio to sit. The sun helped, a little, it seemed. "Are you all right, you didn't answer the phone," she said, sitting on the edge of the chair next to him. 

"Didn't hear it," he mumbled. "Sorry." He wasn't at all surprised to see Alexx. Aside from the fact that he knew she'd be staying with him tonight, he had expected to see someone show up at some point when he'd told Calleigh he wasn't up to working.

"It's all right, sugar. Calleigh was just worried. She said she's sorry she didn't come by at lunch, but she got handed a bunch of bullets right at 11 and needed to get them done," Alexx replied.

He blinked. "What time is it?"

"It's almost 2:30. Why?"

"Lost track, I guess. I didn't think it was lunchtime yet," he admitted.

"How long have you been sitting out here," Alexx asked, with some concern.

He shrugged. "Awhile, I guess."

"Have you been out here since Calleigh left this morning?" she asked.

"I guess," he said.

"Tim, it's 89 degrees out here. Come on, let's go inside and get you cooled off," she said, standing up to prod him. He let her herd him back into the house. "There, that's better, isn't it? Let me get you some water," she said as he dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. He drank the water without comment as he watched Alexx bustle around the kitchen. "Here, I brought you a burrito. I figured you wouldn't have eaten," she said, setting a plate down in front of him.

"I'm not really…"

"I know you're not hungry, eat anyway," Alexx said in her no-nonsense voice.

His lips twisted into something that might be called a smirk, but he picked up the burrito and took a bite. It was probably very good, but he couldn't tell anymore. He managed three bites before shoving the plate away. "Alexx, I really can't," he said.

"Well, you tried. That's good enough for right now, I suppose," she sighed. She sat across the table from him. He squirmed a bit under her scrutiny, but she didn't relent. "It's because you turned thirty, you know," she said, finally.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"That's why it's worse this year. You turned thirty," Alexx said, with a bit of a shrug. "It didn't bother you in June because you don't really think you care about that sort of thing, but it's September, and it's worse this year because you hit that milestone."

"I don't…how do you…"

"Oh, Timmy, really," she said with some exasperation. "How long have I known you, baby?"

"A long time," he admitted.

"Yes, a long time. And every September, you lose it a little. You get lost a bit and wander off in your head for a week or so, and then you come back and it's all right. It happens every year. Don't think I haven't noticed," she said. "This year it's worse, because you got to thirty, and I'm betting the person you're mourning didn't, and that's very upsetting."

"Alexx…" he said, trailing off. He didn't think he could tell even her.

"In all the years I've known you, have I ever asked you why you're here?" she asked quietly.

"No," he admitted.

"All right then. If I haven't asked in ten years, what makes you think I'm going to ask you now? You can tell me whatever you want to tell me, baby, but I'm not going to push you on this. You should know that by now," she admonished him.

"I do, I guess," he said.

"Good," she nodded.

He got up from the table and wandered into the living room to escape the conversation. She followed him, like he knew she would, but he ignored her as he flopped down on the couch. Alexx sat patiently in the armchair, but left him to his own thoughts.

_She'd understand, you know._

_Of course she would. _

_Then why don't you just TELL her. _

_Because…._

_Because why?_

_Because I can't, that's why._

_You can, Timmy. You really can. _

His chest hurt again, and his breath was coming in little hitches. He tried to fight it, push it back, but the more he tried the worse it got until he was almost panicking with the feeling that his heart was going to explode.

_Let it go, Tim. _

_I….I…._

_Give yourself that much at least. _

_It…hurts. _

_I know. It's going to. _

Alexx had noticed his distress. "Baby?" she asked gently.

"It...I…it hurts," he gasped out.

"Oh, honey," she said, moving to the couch. "Oh, oh, my baby. It's ok, Timmy, it's ok." She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close when he tried to pull away. "No, no, honey, let it out. Let it go, baby."

And then suddenly, he was crying. Great big gasping sobs that made him feel as though he was being turned inside out. His head pounded and his chest throbbed as the storm just crashed down upon him. Alexx held him and rocked him as he cried and cried until nothing, nothing at all was left, and he was finally silent. Silent, it was all silent. He couldn't hear his heart or his breath or his thoughts swirling around anymore. It was all calm and still and fragile. He felt as though he'd shatter in a million pieces if he moved.

"How're you doing, baby?" Alexx asked, at length.

"I don't know," he admitted.

"That's all right," she said. She hugged him tight a moment. "I'm going to get you a glass of water and some tissues, ok?"

"Ok," he whispered, sitting himself back up. He felt disconnected, kind of dreamy in a nightmarish way. But nothing hurt. For the first time in a week, nothing hurt.

Alexx returned presently with a box of tissues, a glass of water, a bottle of ibuprofen and a cool washcloth. "Here, take these, honey. They'll help," she said, shaking two of the pills out and handing them to him.

"Thanks," he said, softly. He blew his nose and drank the water. The coolness felt good.

"Why don't you lie down for awhile," she suggested.

"Ok," he said. He would have agreed to just about anything at that point.

She helped him lie down on the couch and put the cool washcloth over his face. "There, that'll help your poor eyes."

"Yeah," he said.

"Ok, love. You rest. I'll be right here," she said, gently squeezing his hand.

"Thanks," he whispered, closing his eyes under the weight of the washcloth. Through the fragility, he felt safe. Safe and protected. That would be enough, he thought. That would be enough.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

* * *

"Duquesne," Calleigh said, answering her cell phone. It was Sunday and they were sitting on a rock on the beach near his house. She had insisted that they leave the house, because he hadn't gone anywhere or done much of anything except sleep since Friday afternoon. So he'd agreed to walk to the beach. Leaving the house had been harder than he'd expected it to be, but he was better now that they were out and about.

"I think that would be all right, but let me ask him," Calleigh said to the person on the other end of the line. She covered the mouthpiece of the phone and turned to him. "It's Horatio. He wants to know if you'd be up to dinner tonight."

"Dinner?" he asked, frowning.

"Yes, dinner. I'd come too, if you wanted," she said.

"Um, ok, but why?" he asked.

"I would guess he wants to talk to you about tomorrow," she said, with a shrug. "Should I tell him it's ok?"

Ah, tomorrow. Whether he'd be allowed to go back to work. "Uh, yeah. That's fine," he answered.

The tension that had almost disappeared as they sat in the sun watching the ocean crept back across his shoulders as Calleigh told Horatio they'd meet him at 6 at the Ocean Club. "If you want, I don't have to come," she said, looking sidelong at him.

"Do you not want to come?" he asked, slightly worried. She'd put up with a lot from him this week. He wouldn't blame her if she were tired of it.

"No, I don't mind coming along. I just thought that you might want to talk to Horatio alone," she said with a shrug.

"No. No, not really. You should come. Really," he said, nervously.

"All right, all right," she said, reaching out to pat his hand. "I'll come. Don't worry."

"Good," he said.

They sat in silence for a little while before Calleigh stood up and stretched. "It's 4:30. Maybe we should head back."

"Maybe," he said, not moving. He really was not anxious to get to dinner. He hadn't talked to Horatio since Thursday morning, when he'd been frantically trying to get H to let him stay on the case.

"Tim, come on. You need a shower. And some decent clothes," she said, reaching out to pull him upright.

"Cal…" he said, but didn't know where he wanted to go with it.

"It's going to be okay, you know that, right? Really, Tim, you're about a hundred times better today than you were when I talked to you yesterday and you're at least a thousand times better than you were on Thursday. Whatever happened Friday afternoon has obviously helped a lot. Not to mention that you've probably more than caught up on your sleep. Horatio is going to see that. You're not all the way there, yet, maybe, but you're getting there," she said.

"I know," he said softly.

"All right, then," she said, as they started picking their way across the sand towards the boardwalk leading to the parking lot. "I really don't think you have anything to worry about. I know Alexx talked to him."

"She did?" he asked.

"Yeah, yesterday sometime. I don't know exactly what she said, but he knows you were behaving yourself this weekend. No work, and all," she replied.

"Oh," he said.

"I told him that you weren't working, that you were resting, too," she said.

"Ok," he replied.

"He was pleased about that, you know. He really does just want you to get better," she said.

"I know. I just…I don't know. It's nothing," he sighed.

"I'm sure it's not, but ok," she said.

"I don't…if he doesn't let me go back to work, at least in the lab, I don't know if…work helps, Calleigh," he said. "I know you all don't understand that, but work helps. It really does, most of the time."

"Tim, we _do_ understand that. That's not the problem. The problem is you use work like my daddy uses booze. You use it to forget and so you don't have to think. And that's not healthy. That's what makes us worried. It's not that you love your work and that you throw yourself into it. It's the reasons _why_ you throw yourself into it. And the fact that you do so to the extent that you do things that are a little bit self-destructive. Like not sleeping and not eating, and driving around alone at night hoping you don't crash the car. That's what worries us- the self-destructive part," she explained.

"I don't mean to be," he said. "It's just…I'm not a good sleeper."

"I know you aren't, honey. But that catches up to you, and when you get all wrapped up in the work, you get to the point where it takes you over and then you lose ground and you get exhausted. We know you're an insomniac. That's really never been in question- hell, I figured that out the first month I knew you. It's the fact that sometimes you don't _do_ anything about the fact you can't sleep, and then you'll get all stuck on work and then it just makes it worse. _That's_ the problem. The bottom line is, Tim, you don't take care of yourself. For whatever reason- you think it's better that way, you don't think you deserve to be happy, whatever. And that's what Horatio is trying to get through to you. That's why he grounded you and threatened to put you on leave. He had to do that, because you just plain wouldn't listen any other way. And he did it because you need to fix whatever it is that gets you all het up so that you start getting self-destructive. Because one day, Tim, one day, it's going to catch up to you, and you're not going to be able to stop. You're going to go over that edge, and we're all going to lose you. And none of us wants that to happen," she said.

"I know," he whispered.

"Ok, then," Calleigh said, as they walked up his driveway. "So do something about it."

"It's…not that easy," he said, as he unlocked the door and let them inside.

"I know that, Tim. I really do. But it would be a lot easier if you would just let someone help you. Someone, anyone. None of us really care who it is- whether it's a professional, or just one of us. We just want you to let someone in, you know," she said.

"I know," he nodded. "I do know that. It's just…that's not easy, either."

"I know that, too. Just try, ok? Promise me you'll try, just a little bit?" she asked, reaching out to turn him to face her.

He couldn't quite meet her eyes, but he didn't look away, either. "Ok. I'll try. Or, try to try, anyway."

"I'll take it," she said, smiling a little. "Go on and get cleaned up, ok?"

"Right," he said.

A few hours later, he was slouched in a booth at the Ocean Club, drumming his fingers nervously against the bench. Calleigh reached over and tried to still his hand, but he wouldn't let her. She laughed. "Horatio, I swear to God, he was a whole lot calmer earlier. Promise."

Horatio smiled back at her. "Oh, I'm sure he was."

Tim scowled at Calleigh, but tried to sit still. Two minutes later, he was fidgeting again. "Tim!" Calleigh said, with no small amount of exasperation.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Speed, if I told you that you could come back to work tomorrow, would you calm down?" Horatio asked, somewhat amused.

He straightened and looked up at Horatio. "And the catch?" There would be conditions, he was sure of it.

The waitress arrived with their food before Horatio could answer. After she had set their plates in front of them, Horatio replied, "Let's discuss that after we eat. I want to think about that a little more."

"Ok," Tim said, nervously. Calleigh shook her head.

The meal continued peacefully. Calleigh and Horatio chit-chatted about a mutual friend while Tim tried to concentrate on his food. He wasn't terribly hungry, but he knew Horatio was watching to see whether he ate. He was sure that would be part of the conditions connected to working. Horatio and Calleigh had both finished their meals before he was half done with his plate. He glanced up from the food as Calleigh excused herself to the restroom.

"So," Horatio said, turning his attention towards Tim.

Tim swallowed, and put his silverware down. "Yeah?"

"Alexx told me about Friday," Horatio said.

"She did?" He winced, inwardly. That wouldn't be good, he didn't think.

"She was of the opinion that you'd hit bottom at that point. Was she right?" Horatio asked.

He glanced away, both out of nervousness and out of a bit of shame. "I think…maybe, yes," he said finally.

"I thought so," Horatio nodded. "You do seem a lot better tonight, though, Speed. You look better, anyway. On Thursday, I was afraid you were going to keel over at any moment. You don't look like that anymore."

"I…caught up on my sleep," he said, trying to bring himself to look _at_ Horatio instead of past him.

"I know. Calleigh and Alexx both said. That's good." Horatio regarded him for a long moment. "All right, then. I will allow you back into the field tomorrow."

Tim's head jerked up as he stared at Horatio with hope rising in his chest. He had barely expected to be allowed back into the lab, let alone the field. "If?" he asked.

"If you continue to leave at six and not come in until seven," Horatio said.

"Ok," Tim nodded.

"And if you continue to take all of your breaks and meals."

"Right," he said.

"And you're not working anything solo, indefinitely. I want you with someone out in the field at all times."

"All right," he agreed.

"And your gun gets cleaned tonight, in front of either me or Calleigh. Whomever you prefer, but one of us has to see you do it," Horatio said, seriously.

"I can do that," he said.

"You're on thin ice, you understand?" Horatio said. "If I see that you aren't taking care of yourself, or if you're not complying with these conditions, I will not hesitate to put you on medical leave. You understand that, yes?"

"I understand," Tim said, nodding.

"Good. Now, I am going to suggest that you talk to someone, professionally. I'm not going to _require_ it, but I do think it would be a very good idea. I know some very good people both inside the department and outside of it, and I can give you some names if you want," Horatio said, tilting his head.

Tim bit his lip, but shook his head. "I don't…let me think, ok?"

"Thinking is fine. I just want you to give it some serious consideration."

"Right. I'll try," he promised.

"Good enough," Horatio replied. "I'm not doing this to punish you, you know that, right?"

"I know it," he said softly, nodding.

"All right, good. You know my door is open, right? Anytime, day or night."

"I know. Thank you," he added.

"You're welcome. I know you can do this, Tim. I'm counting on you."

"Right," he said. "I know."

"All right, then. We've got a deal," Horatio said, nodding firmly. "Oh, and if you're done eating, that's all right. Don't finish it if you're not hungry," he said, indicating Tim's plate.

"Ah, yeah, ok," he said, somewhat relieved. He really wasn't hungry. Hadn't been, for days.

Horatio smirked as Calleigh returned to the table. "Everything good?" she asked.

"Everything's fine," Horatio replied.

"Good. I'm glad," she said, looking at Tim. He nodded at her. "All right, then, I want dessert, but I don't want it here," she said, decisively.

"Agreed," Horatio said. "The food is good, but this is really not a dessert place."

"Well, if you're done, Tim, we can go find a better dessert place?" she asked.

He pushed his plate away. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Great. How does ice cream sound?" she asked, as Horatio paid the check.

"I could do ice cream," he said, considering.

"Ice cream it is, then," Horatio said, as they gathered their things to leave the restaurant.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

* * *

You know that wild ride I mentioned? Yeah, fair warning, you should probably buckle up for this one. The action is going to heat up...

* * *

By Tuesday, things had returned to some semblance of normal. Calleigh had slept over on Sunday, but had left him alone Monday night. He was happy about that, but had to admit that having her in the house had been comforting at the same time. People had almost stopped looking at him like he was a bomb primed to go off. And he had been able to focus better and make some real progress on the case. There still wasn't much to go on, but since nothing else pressing had come up, Horatio hadn't made them put it on the backburner. Tim was glad, because he wasn't sure he would be able to really put this one on hold. He was a bit less obsessive than he had been, just because he wasn't permitted to be, but it was still something that had him gripped tightly. 

Which was why he was very excited as he popped into Horatio's office on Tuesday afternoon. "H, I've got something," he started before noticing that Eric was sitting in the office. "Oops, sorry," he said.

"No, you're not interrupting," Horatio said. "What do you have?"

"Well, I've been tracing possible places that Markham could be, based on places we knew he was associated with back in 95, right? Most of them aren't useful right now, either because I can't get a warrant to search them, or the ownership has changed hands, or something. But there's one place—it's an abandoned warehouse that he had some connection to through someone he was associated with. It wasn't ever a primary place for him at the time, but things change in 10 years, and he might have decided to hole up there, since so many of his other previous locales aren't available to him anymore. Thing is, the city now owns the warehouse- we seized it on some sort of eminent domain thing a couple years back, I'm not sure of the exact details. It's been sitting abandoned since. I called over to Public Works, and they said the PD has the keys, and since it's ours, I can take a look without having a warrant. I called Hagen, and he said he'd find the keys and meet me out there," he said in a rush.

Horatio nodded slowly. "You just want a look around?"

"Yeah. I don't know if he's actually there or not. But the other thing is, Calleigh is in court right now and she won't be done until probably four or so. And the warehouse is probably a good half hour from here," he said.

"I have a meeting in fifteen minutes," Horatio said. "Can it wait an hour or so?"

"Well, yeah, it can. I don't know if this is even urgent, really," Tim said, trying to not show any real disappointment. He wanted to go and go now, but knew that wasn't an option.

"I'll go with you," Eric said, speaking up for the first time. "DNA is backed up and Alexx told me earlier that she's got three bodies to do before she can even think of mine, so I'm just hanging out until I've got some results to work with."

Horatio looked at them both judiciously. "I want you to be careful," he said after a moment. "Wait for Hagen to get there, I don't want you two picking the lock or something," he said.

"We'll wait," Tim nodded.

"And you stick together in the warehouse, within sight of each other, you hear? Don't go wandering off," he said, seriously, looking pointedly at Tim.

"I won't," Tim said, nodding again.

"And check in, if it looks like you'll be out there for more than an hour or two," Horatio said.

"We will."

"All right, then," Horatio said. "Good luck."

"Thanks, H," Tim called as he started out of the office.

"Oh, and put your Kevlar on, both of you," Horatio called after them.

"Got it, H," Eric called back, reaching out to snag Tim's arm.

"What?" he asked.

"Kevlar," Eric explained.

"Oh, right," Tim said, changing course towards the stairs to the locker room.

"H is leaning on you pretty heavy, isn't he," Eric commented as they both donned their vests.

Tim shrugged. "It's ok."

"He's not usually so overprotective," Eric said.

"I know. It's ok, Eric. I'm not fussed about it, so you know, you don't need to be either," he said, uncomfortably. He didn't think Eric knew all the details about the agreement he had with Horatio, and even though he trusted Eric—mostly—he found that he didn't really want to discuss it. It was enough that Calleigh knew. That was plenty enough.

"All right, man. Just saying." They left the locker room and went out to the truck. "Where is this place, anyway?" Eric asked.

"Just out by the northern city limits," Tim said, handing over the paper with the address.

"Lovely. Hopefully we won't get caught in rush hour coming back," Eric said, glancing at the paper.

"Yeah," Tim replied. "Plans?"

"Well, sort of. One of my cousin's friends is in a band that's playing tonight and I said I'd go. Actually, Calleigh said she'd come if she got out of court early enough to get some stuff off of her desk. You want to come, too?" Eric asked, glancing over at Tim.

He chewed on his lip a moment, unsure. "Where are they playing?" he asked. He really was not up for a club right now. Even at his best, crowds made him nervous, and he was definitely not at his best just now.

"It's an outdoor thing, a park in Little Havana," Eric replied. He caught the deepening uncertainty on Tim's face and laughed. "I promise, man, it's not like the merengue club. This will be Anglo-friendly. We'll speak English and everything, really." Eric and Calleigh had dragged him to a dance club about a year ago. He hadn't been overly enthused about dancing in the first place, and had been even less enthusiastic about the idea when he discovered that Eric had neglected to mention that Tim would probably be the only person in the whole club who didn't speak Spanish. After that, he'd sworn that he'd never go out with Eric in Little Havana again.

He thought about it for another long moment. "All right," he said, finally. "So long as I'm going to know what's going on."

"You will," Eric said. "I can't believe that you've lived in Miami for almost ten years and you still don't speak any Spanish."

"I speak some," Tim protested.

"Not much," Eric pointed out.

"I'm really bad with languages," he admitted.

"You know, that's almost surprising," Eric said. "You're so good with patterns and you've got a fantastic memory."

"I know. But most of it is visual, you know? It's not oral," he replied. "I was an early reader, but a late talker."

"Yeah?" Eric asked.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "I'm just better with things you can see."

"Well, you know, whatever works," Eric mused.

Tim was about to reply when his cell phone rang. Frowning, he answered it, "Speedle."

"Tim? It's your mom," the voice on the other end said.

"Mom? Um, hi?" he said, confused. "Is everything ok?" he asked.

"No, everything's fine," he heard his dad reply. "It's your dad, too."

"Yeah, I can see that. What's up?" he asked.

"Are we interrupting, I don't want to bother you if you're in the middle of something," his mom asked worriedly.

"No, um, not really," he said "We're just on our way to check something out, but I probably have a minute."

"You're not driving, are you?" his mom asked.

He sighed and caught sight of Eric's smirk. "No, Mom, I'm not driving. I can talk a moment, really. What's going on?"

"We just wanted to call and apologize," his dad replied. "We forgot what last week was."

"Ah," he said. "I sort of figured that."

"Really, honey, we just got so excited about the idea of the trip and we just got caught up in it and forgot about the anniversary. We didn't mean to call and bug you about coming home just then, really," his mother said.

"It's…ok, Mom. Really. I'm not mad," he said, slowly.

"Are you all right, though?" his dad asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm…well, yeah, I'm ok. Mostly, anyway, I guess," he stumbled over the words, not really wanting to worry them, but knowing that they weren't going to believe him any more than his friends had.

"I'm sorry, honey. Just about all of it. We saw Lisa the other day and she said if we talked to you to remind you that she and George still care about you and send their love," his mom said.

"I know," he said, softly. "I know."

"They don't blame you," his dad reminded him. "No one does."

"Yeah, Dad, I know. It's…all right. I'm fine, really," he said, not wanting to discuss it. "Anyway, about Thanksgiving," he said, changing the subject.

"Yes?" his mom said, sounding hopeful.

He cringed a little, but said, "Yeah, I was thinking that it sounds kind of like a good idea."

"Really?" his mom asked.

"Yeah. I can't say for sure just yet, you know, but I'll talk to people here and see if I can get the time for it, ok?" he said. The idea of going away for any reason, let alone Thanksgiving, terrified him, but he knew how much it would mean to both of his parents. And he'd promised Calleigh he'd try to be better.

"Oh, Tim, that would be wonderful. Even if you can't get the time off, just saying…oh, you know," she said.

"Yeah. I do. I'm sorry," he said.

"No, no, honey. It's fine, I'm just happy you're going to consider it," she said.

"Well, I'll see what I can do, ok? And you know, you…I'd be ok if you wanted to come here at Christmas." Well, he didn't know if he was quite ok yet, but he could be by Christmas. His parents had visited him exactly once in Miami, and the visit had not gone well. Things were better now, though, than they had been, so it might work this time.

"That would be nice," his dad replied. "A nice, warm Christmas."

"Yeah, I can pretty much guarantee that it'll be warmer here than there," Tim agreed.

"Well, good," his mom said. "Oh, good."

"Yeah," he said. "Ok, guys, I really do kind of have to go now," he said.

"Oh, of course. You take care, honey, I love you," his mom said.

"Love you too, Little Man," his dad said.

"Yeah, love you too," he said. "I'll call you when I know what's going on with the time off, ok?"

"Sounds good," his dad said.

"We'll talk to you then," his mom added.

"All right. Bye, then," he said, clicking off the phone, feeling vaguely embarrassed to have had Eric witness that phone call. "Sorry," he said, shrugging a little.

"Oh, no big," Eric said. "Your parents, I take it?"

"Uh, yeah," he nodded.

"Want you home for Thanksgiving?" Eric asked.

"Something like that, yeah. It's been awhile," he admitted.

"I guessed. You don't talk about them much," Eric added.

"No, I guess I don't. It's…things are kind of complicated," he replied.

"You don't get along?" Eric asked.

"No, we do, mostly…it's just, well, complicated. It's me, more than them, though. They're good people, really. Not their fault they have a screw-up for a kid, you know?" he shrugged.

"But, they don't," Eric said, glancing over at him. "Unless you're talking about a sibling I don't know about."

Tim laughed. "No, no, my brother is definitely not a screw-up. Oh no, not at all." He had ceased to be bitter about that a long time ago. It was more amusing how different he and his younger brother were than anything, anymore.

"You're not a screw-up, Speed. You're a good CSI and a good guy," Eric said, seriously.

"No, I am definitely a screw-up, Delko. I may be less of one now than I used to be, but there were…I've…I did some really stupid and really awful things. So, you know. It's mostly my fault," he said, slowly.

Eric was silent for a long moment. "I'm not going to change your mind about that, am I?"

"Probably not," Tim admitted. "Look, can we just not talk about this?" He really was not up for this conversation.

"Oh, yeah, man, of course. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so nosy," Eric apologized.

"No, it's ok. I mean, it's not like Alexx and Calleigh haven't been saying the same thing forever. It's just that I don't really want to talk about it right now," he said. "I'm…kind of worn out, a little."

"Yeah, I know. It's ok," Eric said. "You're doing better, though, right?" he asked after a moment.

"I'm trying," Tim admitted.

"Well, if I can do anything," Eric said.

"I know," he said. "Thanks," he added.

"Any time," Eric replied. "Is that it up there?" he asked, indicating a building in the distance.

"Looks like it," Tim said, grateful for the timing.

"Where's Hagen, I wonder," Eric said, pulling into the parking lot surrounding the building.

"He had to go and get the keys," Tim explained.

"Right. Well, you think we ought to drive the perimeter, at least?" Eric asked.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. See if we can see if anyone's here," Tim nodded.

They drove around the building, but didn't see any signs of any activity. "Guess it's really vacant," Eric said.

"Or at least no one's been using the outside," Tim said. "It's a pretty big building, if someone was in the middle of the interior, there's no way we'd have seen them"

"Good point," Eric said, as Hagen drove up.

"Delko, Speedle," Hagen greeted them as they all got out of the cars. "See anything?"

"Not yet," Tim replied.

"You really think anyone's in there?" Hagen asked.

"Well, we won't know unless we look," Eric pointed out.

Hagen shrugged, and walked towards the door. "Doesn't look jimmied," he said as he unlocked the padlock. They opened the door cautiously. "Nothing so far."

"It's a big building," Tim said, absently, looking around as they entered. He shivered, suddenly.

"What?" Eric asked, concerned.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. He didn't see anything, exactly, but something didn't feel right.

"Don't go getting spooky on me," Eric said, turning to grin at him.

"I'm not—LOOK OUT!" He yelled, trying to reach out to pull Eric down as something shiny caught the corner of his eye. He wasn't quick enough, though. As Eric turned to look at what Tim was seeing, a bullet caught him in the back of the head and he fell forward. "Eric!" Tim yelled, frantically, as he watched his friend fall.

"Get down," Hagen yelled, roughly. Tim dropped instantly, trying to determine whether Eric was breathing or not. "Speedle, stay down," Hagen warned, as he came up into a crouch over Eric's body.

Tim looked around. Everything was a blur, but he could make out someone coming toward him. Blinking to focus, he saw a gun in a hand, pointing in their direction. "Oh, God," he whispered, fumbling for his weapon. He pulled it free as the assailant started shooting at Hagen.

"_You gotta squeeze the trigger, don't jerk it"_ Calleigh's voice in his head. _"Easy now"_

He squeezed the trigger and was startled as the bullet discharged. His gun actually fired. At someone. Not on a firing range. For real. And the person he was aiming at dropped like a rock. "Oh, God, oh, God," he said, over and over, frantically. He'd never shot anyone before. Hell, he'd never actually fired a weapon outside of a firing range before. Dispo Day had been the first time he'd ever even drawn his weapon, and it hadn't fired. His head was swimming as he aimed and fired again, not hitting anything this time. Hagen was firing as well, but then he cried out. Tim spun to look, and saw the red blossoming across Hagen's white dress shirt. "Oh, no, nonononono," he mumbled, as he tried to make his way over to Hagen. Someone was still shooting, but they stopped as he got closer. He didn't know if they had just run out of bullets or what. He wasn't going to get to find out, though. Someone grabbed him roughly from behind. He kicked out, but they slammed him in the side of his head with something heavy. Suddenly dizzy, he swayed as the hands shoved him to his knees. He looked up, and saw a man with a blue tattoo raise his arm and bring it crashing down against the side of his face a second time before everything faded to black.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

* * *

I'm sure you could have guessed, but parts of this chapter are definitely not pretty...

* * *

He moaned as he returned to consciousness. One of his eyes wouldn't open completely as he blinked. He could see Eric and the bullet wound if he turned his head, which made him gag. People don't survive bullet wounds that look like that, he knew. He managed to roll up onto all fours, gagging and spitting blood. There was blood everywhere, it was all he could smell, all he could taste, and all he could feel, the wet stickiness all over him. Everything hurt and nothing hurt. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. No idea what was going on.

A flash of memory. Megan's voice saying, very seriously, _"These new pagers have a panic button. If you hit this button, it sends an alarm and a GPS signal to the switchboard. So if you're ever in something and you need help, hit the button, and we'll come find you, ok?"_ He fumbled for the pager that still hung on his belt and found the button. But even so, help would be a half hour coming, they were so far out. His gun seemed to be gone. He managed to struggle to his feet, still dripping blood, and looked around, trying to determine what had happened. Hagen's white shirt caught his attention and he stumbled over towards the detective, who was lying barely conscious.

_Put pressure on it, idiot_, he thought, as he fell to his knees in front of Hagen. He reached out to try to stop the blood seeping out of a wound in Hagen's torso.

"No," Hagen moaned. "Gotta secure scene. Get help."

Tim tried to tell him he'd already hit his panic button, but he found that his mouth wouldn't open. Or wouldn't close, he couldn't tell. It felt disconnected from his body. He fought panic as he tried to say "…id, re'dy."

"Radio in car. Get help," Hagen said, again, not comprehending what Tim had said.

In frustration, Tim held up his pager. "id, a'rdy. An't, alk right."

"K," Hagen gasped. "Gotta secure scene," he directed.

Tim made a noise of wordless frustration, but looked around. He didn't see anything, but it was really hard to see with only one eye. And he was dizzy. But Hagen was more of a cop than Tim would ever be, and Tim found a gun strapped to the detective's ankle. He pulled himself back up to his feet and staggered around the room, looking out the door. "on't see nothn," he mumbled, coming back to Hagen. This time he ignored the protests as he put pressure on Hagen's wounds.

He had no idea how long he sat there, trying to stop the bleeding. No idea if he was bleeding himself. There was so much blood everywhere that he couldn't tell. But eventually, he heard sirens and hands pulled him away from Hagen, who had lost consciousness by then. He struggled against the hands as they pulled him away and bundled him onto a gurney.

"Sir? Sir, you need to hold still," the EMT said.

"Na, na, need H," he insisted. If the paramedics were there, Horatio would be too. Horatio wouldn't leave them out there alone, he knew that.

"Sir, I really need you to remain calm, you've been badly hurt. We're going to help you, just be still," the EMT tried again. He fought against her, violently.

"Need H," he tried to yell. Yelling was too hard, though. He struggled against the EMT again, and against her partner who had also come to try and hold him down. "g'tta ell H."

"Speed! I'm here, I'm here, it's all right. Calm down, let them help." Horatio came rushing over. "It's all right."

"Na! Not. G'tta…" he reached out and grabbed Horatio's arm with his blood smeared hands, just to make sure he was really there.

"I've got you buddy," Horatio said. "I've got you."

"G'tta ell ou," he mumbled.

"Tell me what?" Horatio said.

"Lue t'too. 'ad a lue t'too."

"He had a blue tattoo?" Horatio asked, frowning.

"Ah," Tim said, nodding.

"Ok, buddy, I got it. Rest, ok? Let them help you,"

"Ait! E'ic idn't know…idn't know," he said, frantically, as the EMT wrestled one of his arms away in his distraction. He didn't even feel the IV needle slipping under his skin in his panicked need to explain.

"Eric didn't know?" Horatio asked, trying to decipher what he'd said.

"Ah. Idn't know." He wanted to explain further, but the drugs the EMT put in the IV combined with the dizziness made him black out again.

Something bright flashed, and he saw a bright, dizzying scene for a split second before things abruptly became very calm and dim. He felt odd, like he was floating. It was something like he thought zero gravity must feel like. He didn't seem to be really able to move, but he could look around. And when he did, he saw Eric standing in front of him.

"Wha?" he said, confused.

"Yeah, I know, you don't know what's happening. It's ok. You're not going to, really. And I don't know how much time I've got, so you gotta be patient with me, ok?" Eric said.

"Um, ok," he said. He could talk again, which was a relief. "What happened? What's going on?"

"Well, we got ambushed, is what happened. And right now, you're in surgery. You're pretty badly hurt, but they're trying to fix you up. They're going to succeed, though, you know," Eric explained.

"You know that?" he asked, confused.

"Oh, yeah. I know a lot of things now. I can see all of it, and it all makes sense now. I can see what happened to you, with Jason and everything," Eric said, nodding. "I gotta say, I understand a whole hell of a lot better now. I always thought you were a pretty tough guy, tougher than I was, for sure. But I didn't know how hard you'd had to fight."

Tim shook his head. "I don't…"

"No, you're not going to understand. That's ok. You don't need to right now. You might, eventually. Or you might not remember this at all. I don't know. But I do know there's a couple things I wanted to tell you," Eric said, seriously.

"Like?" he asked.

"Like, I can see all these possibilities now, and I can see that you're never going to be everything you could be unless you let go. Let go of all of it."

"Eric, I…"

"No, listen. I don't have time for you to argue. You listen, I'm going to talk," Eric said, firmly. Tim nodded, mutely. "Good. If you don't let go, that's going to be what kills you, you understand? You did not exactly win the genetic lottery in mental health, I'm sure you've figured that one out already, right?" He nodded in response. "You've fought good and long and hard, longer than I think you even know, but you're going to lose if you try to do it all alone. You just are. You gotta listen to Calleigh and Alexx and Horatio, and do what they've been telling you to do. You can trust them. They'll get you through."

"Ok," he whispered.

"All right. And another thing, you don't get to feel guilty about today. You can't do that to yourself. Trust me, it was supposed to happen like this. God, there's so many thing I see now, so much I understand. This was supposed to happen. I wouldn't change a thing, even if I could. I'm all right, I'm better than that. I'm great. I had my hope of heaven and it's here, now. I know you don't believe like that, but I also know you wish you did. I'm not going to tell you what to do about that, but I'm going to tell you that it's ok, however you choose. I'm not lost out here, I'm where I'm supposed to be, ok?" Eric said, earnestly.

Tim nodded, slowly. "But…"

"But nothing. No one's lost here, we're none of us lost souls in the end. Not even you, you understand? You're not going to be out here alone when you get here, I promise."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah. Really. I can't tell you, you wouldn't believe me anyway, and besides, I really don't think you're going to remember all of this. I'm hoping you at least get to keep the gist of it, because otherwise, you're not going to make it to the end. And you've got a good ways to go," Eric said, with a smile. "You've got a long road ahead."

"Eric, I really don't…is this real?" he asked.

"I don't know, honestly. I'm not sure what real is, anymore. I just know that it's right, it's all right. And when you wake up, you're probably going to think this was all a hallucination. It's not, it wasn't, but I don't know if it's exactly real, either. If you've got to explain it that way to square it with yourself, then that's what you gotta do. And it's ok," Eric explained. He glanced aside. "It's almost time. Listen, there's people who love you, and you need to listen to them and let them love you. Let them help. It's ok. You know more than you think you do. Really. I'm ok, don't worry any about me. It's all good, in the end, Tim. It's all good. You be well," Eric said, as the calm dimness started to spin away again towards black.

His eyes seemed to open again on a dizzy flashing scene, and then darkness again, but it wasn't quite as dark as before. He could hear voices, vaguely.

"…think we ought to be worried about…"

"No…said they were giving him Ativan…"

"Could take awhile…"

"Hey, look, did he just move his leg…Tim, can you hear me?"

"Timmy, baby, it's time to open your eyes…"

"Come on, Little Man, it's time to wake up for me, can you wake up for me? I'm here, we're all here, so open your eyes for us…"

His eyes struggled open, and this time, things stayed in place. One eye seemed to be still swelled shut. He blinked, and his dad's face came into focus. "Hey, there, Little Man," he heard, softly. "You've had us really scared, there."

He tried to say something, but heard Alexx say, "No, baby, don't try and talk. They've got your jaw bandaged shut. You can't talk right now."

He blinked again, and moved his head a little to see Alexx standing on the other side of the bed. He became aware of a hand touching his leg, and looked over to see Calleigh near the foot of the bed. "Hey, Tim," she said, smiling sadly. He nodded a little, and turned his head again. He could see the window now.

It was raining, again.

End

* * *

A feeling inside in the back of my head  
Like a song you still know from so long ago  
And I wouldn't change a thing  
Like a car driving by triggers something in my mind  
Am I retrieving my direction or just charging forward blind?  
Am I everything that you wanted me to be?  
Have I lost that condition, a connection I couldn't see?

Til the end like a friend stands by you again  
And I wouldn't change a thing  
Toe to toe, friend or foe, it's all that I know  
And I wouldn't change a thing  
- "World Full of Hate", Dropkick Murphys

* * *

Now, before you all start telling me I'm evil (which you probably should, since I probably am, a little), let me tell you that this is just the end of this story. There's more to come, but probably not until after the first of the year. It will all become clear, in time. Or it won't. But I think you won't be disappointed, in the end. There's a long road yet, after all... 


End file.
